


Becoming Adults

by Spot_On60



Category: The A-Team (2010), The A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2019-10-29 16:42:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 78,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17811671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spot_On60/pseuds/Spot_On60
Summary: Hannibal and Face need each other and belong together. They just have a little growing up to do first.





	1. Chapter 1

**I Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings**

 

“Face, who did this to you? Who hurt you so thoroughly?” Hannibal saw right through the young officer’s advances. Moving his way through the ranks of the U.S. Army he’d seen his share of floating young men, so often off balance and thinking access to guidance was for other people.

Face needed to deny the Major’s assertion, almost said “I don’t know what you mean” but stopped himself, that was inviting conversation, not what he wanted right now. No, he was losing this particular con and the stakes were too high to let that happen, he had run out of options. He was also on the verge of being out of what dignity he had left and at this point he’d do what he had to do to set this evening back on course to his ultimate goal.

“Hurt? No.” His hand had been on the back of the sofa. Moving it to barely light on the Major’s shoulder, his thumb whispered up along the stubbled throat eliciting no change in Hannibal’s expression. To most anyone else it would appear there had been no effect on the senior officer. Face wasn’t just anyone else. The sophomore conman saw the tell, he watched as that Adam’s apple bobbed in response to the gentle stroke of heat and the promise of more.

“Come on Hannibal,” he cajoled, his voice not quite breathy. “You wanna fuck me? You can.”

“No Face,” was the firm answer given as the Major rose from the sofa.

Following him halfway across the room Face pressed on, “Please. I want you to.” Then adding for emphasis along with his face in a practiced expression, “Really.”

“What makes you think I’d be interested in something like that?”

“Come on, Hannibal. Think I haven’t seen you check me out?”

“You ever hear of a little thing called ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell,’ Lieutenant?”

“Think we’re beyond that.” Then with a well rehearsed smile, “Come on. I know you want to.”

It didn’t take someone of Hannibal’s acuity to see through the kid’s facade. “No Face.”

The ramifications of what would happen to him if he didn’t close this slammed into the Second Lieutenant’s brain, it again persisted that he had to make this happen. “Please,” more quietly this time. Face’s eyes shifted left to right, the gears grinding. “I’ll be really good for you.”

Hannibal only shook his head as he took steps in the direction of the door.

The young officer was desperate. He needed this. He needed Hannibal and the only sure way was to offer his body. He had learned the hard way it’s what people saw in him and wanted. His intellect and talents outside grifting weren’t worth bartering. Had they been he would have caught a break a longtime ago. “Please don’t go. Please Hannibal. I’ll do whatever you want. Just please don’t go. I need you. I need to be in your unit. Please. Whatever it takes.”

Hannibal stopped, turning to look back at the pleading young man, “You think the way into my unit is through a fuck?”

Face said nothing, yet Hannibal could see him still begging all the same.

Hannibal wouldn’t approach him, the authority needed to remain his. “Face, come here.” He watched as the handsome young man all but scrambled across the room. He stood holding one hand in the other behind his back, head dropped, submissive.

With his stomach sinking at the sight, Hannibal lifted the young man’s chin with a crooked finger and thumb. The head came up, but the eyes didn’t follow. When they finally did open they were shifted to the side, obviously looking away, unchallenging.

“Look at me.”

When he did Hannibal saw they were red and stressed, desperate. “Face, I’m going home now.” This sent the younger man’s chin trembling.

“Please Major,” Face whispered.

Unable to contain himself any longer he gave into the need to pet the kid’s cheek. “I’m going home. I want you to go to bed. Get a good night’s sleep. Then you are to report to my office at seven hundred tomorrow.”

Face swallowed hard, again looking away.

“Am I understood?”

His reply was a weak nod and even weaker, “Okay.”

The Major didn’t have the heart to demand a “Yes sir.” With a hand on the kid’s shoulder Hannibal instead finished, “We’re going to talk about this. Hopefully work something out.”

 

*******

 

It wasn’t more than four minutes when a knock reverberated through the door. Face hurried to see what the Major had forgotten, wanted to say, wanted him to know. Or maybe had he changed his mind. If he had, Face knew it wasn’t a stretch when he had told the Major he’d make it good. After a night, hell after an hour the Major would be his.

But it wasn’t Hannibal.

“What was he doing here?”

“Wha...What do mean? I’m...”

“You’re what? Hmmm? You’re what?!”

The blow to the temple was upon him before he comprehended the movement. He hit the floor with all the grace of a soldier caught unaware. Of a soldier who was afraid to protect himself from his attacker. Who knew any reciprocation would result in more hardship than was already at hand.

“Tell me! What are you, Face?”

But how could he answer when the air had been forced out of him with a toe soundly rammed into his diaphragm.

“Don’t want to tell me?”

Face’s head whipped to the side from a backhand.

“What are you, Face? You fucked? I think you’re fucked. Are you fucked or were you fucked?”

Hands made their way to Face’s pants and with little struggle they were pulled down. But how much struggle could there have been after slapping the hands away once? When they came back a second time Face’s hair was grabbed in two fists and his head slammed to the floor. The strike was hard enough to cause not only vertigo but a disturbing bout with tunnel vision.

“Let’s see what we have here.”

Without preamble and whereas the use of one would have answered the question, three fingers were shoved inside him causing a yelp to escape from somewhere beyond where his conscious mind currently floated. Along with the slicing pain he could swear he heard skin tear somewhere in the distance, but that was only his imagination, wasn’t it?

Of course it was he reasoned with himself. He wanted to continue the thought, let it take him away from the pain. He could feel himself shutting down. He needed an escape from his senses. He needed Hannibal. He wanted...

“Jesus Christ, Face. So he didn’t fuck you. Did you have to bleed all over me? Maybe you should keep that baby lubed at all times. Never know when you might need it.” This was said as the blood streaked hand was wiped vigorously on the LT’s shirt.

“So, what did you do for him? Get on your knees? He take you in your mouth?” The voice was somewhere over him. “How many times have I told you, bed all the women you want, but when it comes to your ass, it’s mine?”

When the kick to his back came he tried, really tried to accept the blame for what was happening to him. But with that last assault he could no longer remain with his body. He felt if he did, if he rode this out tonight he would never recover.

He felt a sympathy for the husk, being abandoned to its own fate as it were. He closed himself off from it completely. He let himself ride a lazy wave. He thought of Major Smith, Hannibal. He didn’t know where he stood with the man. After all, he had made a complete ass of himself. Was suppose to be at the Major’s office in the morning, no doubt for a dressing down. Didn’t matter anymore. That tunnel was narrowing down. He felt himself puff out like a blown candle.

 

*******

 

It was 2300 hours and Hannibal had a comfortable buzz roaming through his head, thinking to himself, _Now would be the time to go to bed._ He instead listened to the unnamed whisperer who urged him to bring the bottle of scotch along with to the sofa. This late night companion encouraging him to let down his carefully constructed self control never started as a clear vocalization. Only as a guide there to somehow outline his actions.

The longer time passed the more it took shape. Sometimes he thought it was Andy’s voice he heard. But that couldn’t be. With his obsession with fine wines Andy would never degrade himself nor urge John to forgo measured ounces and tumble into sloppy drunkenness. Hannibal would often be forced to drag himself from the inebriated murkiness into a world of logic to consciously remind himself the voice couldn’t be Andy’s. He hadn’t come along with to Benning. Hannibal had been forced to leave him behind.

That particular night after he returned home from Face’s apartment he didn’t set himself adrift without moorings. Unlike so many of those other nights when the bottle tempted, then lured him into an uneasy and vague darkness, he focused his mind to ponder the young lieutenant whom he had left unfulfilled not long before. It dug at him in the way it had when he tamped down his desire to wile in the man’s company. Instead he had kept his wits about him. Glancing at the clock he saw it was close to midnight. Pushing away the voice telling him one more wouldn’t make a difference he left the bottle on the coffee table to make his way to the master bath. With freshly brushed teeth he stripped down to climb in bed, _None too soon_ , he thought to himself. He needed to be on time but also presentable in the morning when he met with Face.

 

 

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	2. Chapter 2

Hannibal was only partly surprised when Face hadn’t shown up in the morning. He reasoned it hadn’t strictly been an order for the kid to make an appearance. Giving the benefit of the doubt he reasoned the kid may have been embarrassed. Then again, maybe he was just pissed off he wasn’t able to “buy” his way into Hannibal’s unit.

No, that wasn’t the case. The kid was begging Hannibal to take him. There was no anger or animosity, only desperation. Yet if he were that desperate why hadn’t he shown? Perhaps he didn’t go to bed. Perhaps he went out to drink away his failure to bed Hannibal, went to find someone else.

All of these thoughts ran circles in his mind. His own feelings vacillating from sympathy to irritation until he pulled up to the apartment block he had only left the night before to find the door to Face’s meager apartment wide open with not only the local police, but also MPs walking in and out. There were three or four people who appeared to be conversing on the second story walkway. Chest seizing, he couldn’t recall leaving his car nor climbing the stairs as he approached the commotion.

“I’m telling ya all I know. I go walkin’ by this morning and sees the door open.”

“Why were you walking by here, sir?”

“I wasn’t walking by right here. I was in the parking lot. I figured I’d come check it out when I saw the door open. The kid is erratic. He comes and goes. Figured if he was gone, maybe someone broke into his place. Soon as I step in is when I sees him. Checked if he was breathing and stayed til the ambulance showed up. What more do ya want from me?”

“I’m only questioning why you happened to be walking....”

“Ya keep sayin’ the same damn thing and ya keep askin’ me the same damn thing. I’m the property manager. You would have been askin’ me why I didn’t do sumthin’ if it was someone else that found him. Now I got work to do. You come up with sumthin’ else to ask come to the office and ask, but I’m done here now.”

The irate super brushed by Hannibal as he approached. The MP who had been questioning the man looked peeved as his gaze shot up to Hannibal, ready to chase off the nosey bystander. That is until he saw it was none other than Major Smith.

“Major. .. Good morning, sir.” The MP snapped to attention.

“What’s going on here?” Hannibal asked, skipping the formalities.

“This is the residence of a Second Lieutenant Peck, sir. He was the victim of an assault. Building manager found him early this morning.”

“What’s his condition?”

“I didn’t see him before the ambulance pulled out, sir. But from what I’ve been told he was in pretty bad shape. The responding officer said from the color of the bruising on him he could have laid here most of the night. Do you know him, sir?”

“Yes. Not well. We actually just met not long ago. He‘s been tutoring one of my men,” he replied vaguely.

“Any thoughts, sir? Know of anyone who may have attacked him?”

“No. Sorry. Can’t help you there. Like I said, I’ve only recently met him myself.”

“You were coming to see him, sir?”

“As a matter of fact I was. We spoke last night and arranged to meet this morning. When he didn’t show, well I thought I would come by.”

“That how you typically respond to a missed meeting? You go looking for the person?”

“No, no. Of course not.” Hannibal didn’t take offense to the pointed questioning. It’s what the MPs do and are well within their rights to interview superiors minus kid gloves.

“Then I have to ask why you would come here.”

“The Lieutenant seemed eager to a meet with me,” the Major hedged. “When he didn’t show it seemed peculiar.”

“You say you spoke last night.”

“Yes.”

“What time was that, sir?”

“I left approximately twenty-two hundred hours.”

A man stepping through the doorway eyeing Hannibal up and down. Speaking to both men the MP made introductions. “Detective Martin, this is Major Smith. Major this is Detective John Martin. The victim was supposed to meet with the Major this morning. Do you have any questions for him?”

“Nothing immediate. Maybe later.” The detective seemed to have a distracted, Colombo-esque quality about him. He looked over the railing along the walkway deck, then back to the door of Face’s studio. He typed for a moment on his BlackBerry. “Great invention, these things,” he announced waggling his device for the two men to see. “My hand used to cramp for all the notes I wrote. Nice meeting you Major.”

Hannibal responded to his back as the detective passed back through the doorway, “Nice meeting you too.” He glanced at the MP who remained stoic. “I’m going to go to the hospital. You know where to find me if you have further questions.”

“Yes sir, I do.”

 

*******

  

Face became aware of the foreign sounds around him before he truly woke. They seemed to fit in with the scattered nightmare that had plagued him. Shifting in his bed he was hit with pain. An all over soreness punctuated with everything from sharp jabs to dull aches.

The scent of the air was familiar and unpleasant. It was distinctly hospital. Before that knowledge settled and he could mull over why he maybe in this bed another scent rolled in. This one was a mixture of subtle cologne or aftershave blended with cigar and gun oil. It smelled to him of comfort and safety.

When he shifted again he couldn’t help the whimper that escaped him. Almost as soon as it passed his lips there was the touch of a hand on his forehead followed by a gentle stroke along his cheek. He reached for a memory, fleeting and undefined. The touch was familiar and welcome. He pressed his cheek to the palm soaking in the reassurance offered there.

“Face? You waking up, Kid?”

“It hurts,” he thought aloud. Not expecting to be understood.

“I bet it does. Do you need more pain meds? I can call a nurse for you.”

“It hurts,” seemed to be caught in a continuous loop in his head. The hand left him taking with it his connection to the here and now.

It was only gone for a moment before returning to once more stroke fingers along his temple. “I’ve called a nurse. Let’s see if you can have more pain meds.”

“Please help me.”

“Let’s get you comfortable. Okay?”

“I need help.”

“It’s okay, Kid. We’ll get you something. The nurse will be here in just a minute..”

Face wouldn’t turn down a morphine drip if one was offered, but that wasn’t the help he needed most. He needed to get away. He needed protection. He didn’t think he could survive another beating. They were amping up in ferocity, becoming more vicious. He was convinced the next one would kill him. It would be the answer to one prayer and the dismissal of another.

“Please help me.”

“Shhhh....Here she is now.”

“You waking up there Lieutenant?”

“He needs pain meds.”

“That so, Lieutenant Peck?”

His eyes wouldn’t open. When he willed them to cooperate he was rewarded with a pain in his left temple ricocheting off bone. He instead tried to nod. The fraction of an inch attempted only found him immobilized by a further stabbing within his skull. “It hurts.”

“I’ll be back shortly,” the nurse said after checking his IV and taking a brief glance at his vitals displayed on screen.

“He can have something for the pain?” Hannibal asked.

“Yes. We needed him awake first though. I’ll also put out a page to his doctor.”

“Thank you.”

The hand had returned to his forehead. “Did you hear that? She’s getting something for your pain.”

“Please help me.”

“Shhhh....”

It was no time before the nurse arrived with a preloaded syringe. As she injected it into the IV line she addressed Hannibal, “This is relatively fast acting. It’s also going to induce sleep, so don’t be surprised if he dozes off on you.” Another check of the monitor and she was soon out of the room.

With effort Face broke the seal of darkness. He cautiously looked up to the Major. _Oh God. I’ve ruined everything. I never should have pushed so hard_. The direction of his thought abruptly shifted as his eyes caught motion, a shadow in the doorway. Upon seeing his attacker just past the Major’s shoulder now entering the room he had only one thought, _Don’t say anything. Please, Hannibal, don’t say anything._

An electronic monitor had been beeping a quiet beat sounding out the rhythm of Face’s heart. The change was obvious to Hannibal when it began picking up speed and Face’s eyes opened wide. He appeared to be focusing on something behind Hannibal.

“What is it Face?”

“Please don’t say anything,” Face said low as his heartbeat crept up to 127 BPM.

“Anything about what?” The question came from behind Hannibal.

He turned to see Lt. Colonel George Petersen. Hannibal’s ears were filled with the sound of the heart rate monitor now skipping along at a mile a minute. Face was stressed by the man’s appearance, but he didn’t have a clue why. He stood at attention for the senior officer who lifted a laxidasical salute in response.

“Don’t say anything about what?” the Colonel repeated.

Agitation was clear on the LT’s face. With the look seared into his vision, Hannibal determine to do something he had never done before. He lied to a senior officer.

“Lt. Peck seems to have it in his head he’s responsible for breaking my phone.”

“Oh? Why’s that.”

Hannibal tried skating by what seemed to be an inordinate interest on the Colonel’s part. “I don’t know if you remember me, sir. We met once last year at...”

“Yeah I remember you Smith. But I thought I asked why the Lieutenant thinks he broke your phone.”

Hannibal felt something unpleasant, the proverbial bad taste. With that damned monitor seemingly sounding louder and more urgent he leaned in confidentially to the officer, “I think he’s a little confused, you know, due to the pain meds he’s on.” He turned his attention back to Face. “It’s alright Lieutenant, I managed to drop it all on my own.” Hannibal turned his head just enough for Face to see him wink, but for the Colonel to be none the wiser. His attention still on the patient he chuckled, “Interesting you focused in on my broken phone when you can’t remember the rest of our night together.”

Face’s eyes widened again at the mention of being together the night before, Hannibal could have sworn he heard the monitor skip then inform of a series of irregular beats the tell tale heart took. There was no mistaking the young man’s panic was amping up.

“Your night together?” the Colonel questioned.

“Yes. The Lieutenant and I met over a game of pool down at the Old Mill. You familiar with it?” The Colonel made no response. Hannibal continued on, “We called it an early evening and I drove him home. Face was kind enough to allow me to use the facilities.”

It was only a partial lie. Halfway through their final game of pool Hannibal was perfectly aware the handsome young officer was putting the moves on him. Already showing an unintentional display of rashness. However, the night before he chose to deliberately misunderstand the washed out blonde’s intent. He bided his time until they were back at the kid’s apartment. There was only one thing he wanted more than to take Face rough and dirty over the back of the beat up sofa.

He wanted to know why the kid was so desperate.

“Is that so? How did you end up here this morning?” Petersen pressed.

He was fishing and Hannibal knew it; however, he didn’t know what the Colonel was casting for. “Dropped my phone getting in the car last night. When I couldn’t find it this morning, I took a chance on maybe having left it with Face.”

“But you found it in the parking lot. What are the odds?”

“Pretty good it turns out. At least when you park in the same space.”

“I’m good with these gadgets. Give it here. I’ll take a look.”

“Thank you, sir, but that won’t be necessary. I was planning on taking it to the store this afternoon.”

“Let me see your phone.” It was an order.

The beeping crept higher.

Hannibal had been bullshitting about losing the phone and the Colonel seemed to suspect as much. Handing the phone over Hannibal added, “If you can get it going that would be great, sir.”

The Colonel all but snatched the phone out of his hand. Hannibal feigned interest in Petersen’s actions, glancing once at Face, whose expression hadn’t changed. Hannibal leaned in further as though waiting for the moment the Colonel’s attempts with the electronic would be successful.

“Won’t even turn on.”

“I know. I couldn’t get it on either,” Hannibal half lied. Mixing facts with fiction always gave the best results when bluffing. He had actually been planning on stopping to pick up a new charger. The plug had separated from the cord on the one he had earlier thrown away. He fumbled along with it and its exposed wires until the night before when there was a whiff of ozone and the indicator didn’t light saying the phone was charging.

Handing the device back over Petersen said in a flat tone, “You should go get that fixed. Can’t have someone of your standing incommunicado.” It was another order.

“Yes sir.” There was something ugly weaving through the air of the hospital room. “Well Face, like I was saying, I’m very sorry to hear you’ve ended up in the hospital. I’ll be sure to contact the MP office and police if I think of anything that might help find who’s responsible.”

Hannibal’s inner bullshit detector was trying hard to set itself off in a screaming alarm when the Colonel said, “That won’t be necessary, Major.”

He didn’t respond. Instead he turned again to the LT. The painkiller had etched a dazed look across the young man’s face.

He threw the kid a bone. He could use it or not, “I hope at least some of what happened comes back to you. You hear me Kid?”

Face attempted a “Yes sir” though his suddenly inoperable tongue rendered the words barely coherent.

Hannibal reached out, giving Face’s forearm a squeeze adding, “I’ll stop in again.”

“That won’t be necessary either.” Petersen was becoming agitated. “This isn’t your concern, Major.” Emphasizing the rank in an attempt to intimidate. “I’ll be sure the boy gets what he needs. Now it’s time for you to leave. I need to speak with my LT.”

Hannibal didn’t scare easily. “I’ll be on my way. Though it looks like your talk is going to have to wait. The nurse said his injection of pain meds would more than likely knock him out.” He pointed with his chin to the man in the bed whose eyelids looked weighted and were just then fluttering closed.

 

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**Updates maybe slow as I’m trying something different. I normally have a story fully outlined if not mostly complete before I begin posting. This time around I’m posting as I go. So have patience and hang in there with me. Hope you enjoy the story as it moves along.**


	3. Chapter 3

Hannibal could see a shadow pass by the eyehole in the door. There was a moment of hesitation before the locks disengaged. Face stood firm in front of him, making it immediately apparent there wouldn’t be an invitation to enter.

“Sir? What are you doing here?”

“Came to see how you were doing. Make sure you have everything you need.”

“I’m fine. But thank you.” Hannibal noted the kid’s eyes remained downcast.

“Have any prescriptions that need filling?”

“No. They gave me what I needed when I was discharged.”

“Discharged into Colonel Petersen’s hands?”

“Uh... Yeah. He gave me a ride home.” Face found he couldn’t meet Hannibal’s eyes.

“You were discharged under the condition you wouldn’t be alone. That there would be someone keeping an eye on you for several days.”

His eyes shot up at that. “How do you know that? That’s privileged information.”

“Your superiors are charged with ensuring you are healthy and taken care of. It stems to whether or not they’re confident you are able to discharge your duties.”

“With all due respect, I’m not in your chain of command, sir. The hospital shouldn’t have given you that information.”

“No, I’m not and they didn’t. But there’s a General over you, over Colonel Petersen who looked into your release, spoke with your doctor. The waiver you signed for Petersen to be privy to your information wasn’t proprietary. Covers anyone in line above your rank.”

“General Morrison?”

“That’s him.”

“Why would he be checking on me? I haven’t done anything to...” but he was cut off.

“I told him I had some concerns.”

The Major had been there too long. If Petersen caught them together again he would get a one-way ride to the hospital, or maybe just straight to the coroner. Face needed to get rid of him. “Well I’m fine. I really don’t need anything. I’d like to go lay back down.”

“The other night you had a very specific need.”

Face’s throat tightened. _God, he can’t be here looking for sex, can he?_

Hannibal continued, “It was my understanding you felt the need to join my unit. A very urgent need that needed to be discussed.”

Relieved, Face put on his game face, at least the best he could summon at the moment. It was one of his weapons. Could disarm most anyone with it. “Yeah, about that. I had a lot to drink that night. I was probably just mouthing off. I don’t really remember a whole lot.”

With a drop in volume he was asked, “Like who overpowered you, sodomized and beat the shit out of you?” Like Face himself, Hannibal wasn’t just anyone.

The young Lieutenant’s expression crumbled in front of Hannibal. He had seen the look before. Face was pleading. Though this time he was pleading with Hannibal to drop it.

“Exactly like that. Thank you for stopping by. I appreciate it.” His eyes moved right as he tried to get a view beyond the Major. If Petersen showed up he was screwed.

Hannibal leaned left, effectively blocking the kid’s view.

“Face.”

But he wasn’t listening. His focus was on attempting to see beyond the form of the Major whose height and breath had filled the doorway breaking Face’s line of sight to the parking lot.

“Face.” Though not loud, Hannibal’s clipped tone ordered the younger man to attention.

Blue eyes sprung to Hannibal’s chest. When addressed sharply there was no eye contact. It was that beat down submissive demeanor that was so contrary to what the kid should be projecting. Soldiers at attention don’t make eye contact with their superiors unless engaged to do so, but the expectation is not for them to appear meek or passive. Their chins should be up and proud.

Hannibal knew exactly what, or more precisely whom, the kid was looking for. “He’s not out there. He’s tied up for the rest of the day.”

Face looked directly at him then, searching for the lie, eyes barely narrowing.

“Come on, kid. Let me take you for some lunch.”

“No. I mean thank you, but I can’t.” He was having a hard time keeping himself in check.

“Russ has him locked down for the rest of the day and into the evening. He won’t be coming here to look for you.”

“Like you said, I was released into...”

“Don’t, kid.” Hannibal was growing tired of the charade, even so he kept his voice soft. “He checked you out of the hospital and just dropped you off here. Didn’t even come in to be sure you were settled.”

“How would you know?”

“Am I wrong?”

Face kicked the conversation off the vein it was on, “It doesn’t have anything to do with him. The sunlight kinda hurts my eyes. I’d rather not go out.”

Now it was Hannibal’s turn to look beyond Face’s shoulder. What he saw was the same sad little apartment he remembered. It was night then, but in the daytime, with the curtains drawn the space was cold and murky.

“I understand. We’ll order in.”

Still unconvinced Petersen wouldn’t show up without warning Face tried again. “Really I’m alright. Colonel Petersen said he would be by to...”

“I already told you. He’s not coming. Russ gave him a choice, he could be included in a feather-in-a-cap luncheon and brainstorming session if he wanted. His choice. That was if he didn’t have something else to do. Something more important. He’s not here, kid.”

“Shouldn’t you be there too?” Face asked, maybe a little defiant.

Hannibal had to suppress a grin. “I told Russ I had something more pressing to take care of. Something more important.”

Face once more sought out the lie, but this time he stepped aside. Before closing the door after Hannibal he couldn’t stop himself from making a scan of the parking lot.

“What made you decide to pay rent for an apartment off base?” Hannibal had seen the quick search of the apartment complex parking lot, but didn’t let on. It wasn’t an issue he needed to push further.

“I’ve always been a loner. On base there’s people everywhere all the time. The barracks were too public for the Kern ... This is better.”

Hannibal’s not an idiot. He heard “Colonel” loud and clear without Face finishing. His mind also flashed the correct assumption it was Petersen who pressed for this off-base arrangement. “Seems like an unnecessary expense. Especially for someone who hasn’t been on deployment for a while now. You know, not making any special duty pay.” He paused a beat, “That‘s assuming you pay for it yourself.”

Face was feeling crushed under the man’s gaze and was only able to mumble, “Yeah. I pay for it,” He only half lied. “I was making a little extra tutor... Well, you know.”

“Tutoring. It’s not much of a bump in pay.” Yes Hannibal knew very well. Face was an extraordinary marksman, giving private instruction to those up and coming. It was where he had originally encountered the young man.

His Sergeant, Coates, was under Peck’s tutelage. After Don had fanned over the Lieutenant, Hannibal stopped in on the range to observe one of their sessions. Hannibal was impressed as hell not only with the kid’s inherent ability but also how naturally and easily he was able to conjure the same from the three students present. It was a rare thing to see someone as talented willing to spread that knowledge around. Army snipers can be an arrogant bunch. Often placed on pedestals by the service population around them. There were certain privileges bestowed that came with the position and they could keep their techniques close, unwilling to share in what could be a hard fought internal ranking.

But not Face. Here he was stateside, his talents put to good, but decidedly not their best use. They could have been completely wasted had he shown ineptitude for teaching or a belligerence in trying. Instead he showed a generosity of spirit and willingness to make a difference. However, Hannibal was well aware the young man’s paycheck didn’t reflect the esoteric efforts and accomplishments as it would had he been deployed and collecting Imminent Danger Pay or Hazardous Duty Pay, much less the bump up for deployment alone. A brief check of the Lieutenant’s file told him he couldn’t afford this apartment on his salary. He was essentially just starting out, but being held back.

Nah, it wasn’t a stretch to figure out Petersen was keeping him in the apartment, yet Hannibal let him have the lie. He wasn’t there to tear the kid down. Face was visibly relieved the topic went no further even though it was clear Hannibal knew he was indeed being lied to.

“You looked into my file?”

“Not thoroughly. But I will be.” Hannibal’s directness left little doubt. 

Being raised in the oftentimes punishing ways of Catholicism influenced the certainty Face felt he had brought the physical attack on himself. If only he’d kept his head down, not gone out that night, or any night for that matter. If he hadn’t laid eyes on Major John “Hannibal” Smith he wouldn’t have been tempted. His harebrained plan of escape wouldn’t have hatched and he wouldn’t have been punished for the transgression.

But here they were.

Hannibal’s man, name of Coates, Face remembered, had been foisted on him at the shooting range enticing the Major to make an appearance, culminating in him standing in Face’s unhappy and disheveled den. “You want a glass of water? I don’t think there’s much of anything else here.” Face was talking as he walked toward the kitchen. He was moving gingerly in obvious discomfort.

“No. Come back here and sit down. If I want something I’ll get it myself.” A step sideways allowing the other man to pass found Hannibal’s feet had became entangled. Looking down he saw it was a bath towel on the floor. As he bent down to pick it up Face became agitated.

“Leave it,” he barked, wincing at how sharply he’d just spoken to a superior officer.

Hannibal already had it in hand and was standing. “It’s okay. I’ll hang it up for...” His words were cut short. Under where the towel had been was an inky splotch amongst a sea of droplets. He looked up to the young man who was staring down at the bloodstains on the rug.

“I haven’t been able to get to the store for carpet cleaner.” When Hannibal didn’t respond he added, “I couldn’t stand looking at it anymore.”

“It’s okay kid. We’ll have it taken care of,” Hannibal soothed as he again spread the terrycloth, covering the offending remnant of the assault. Taking Face by the elbow he pointed him in the direction of the sofa. “Sit.”

Now settled on the threadbare, 1970s behemoth, Face was quiet. Hannibal noted he had shifted slightly to the right, leaning his weight on the arm of the couch. If he wasn’t in pain, he was at the very least uncomfortable.

“Have you eaten today?”

“I only got home last night. I haven’t been able to get to the store.”

“Petersen didn’t bring anything by for you this morning?”

“No. But he’s busy. He doesn’t have time for that kinda thing.”

“Have you taken your meds today?”

“Yeah. Well most of them.”

“What do you mean ‘most of them.’”

“Found out last night one of them doesn’t sit well on an empty stomach.”

Hannibal didn’t respond immediately. An anger washed over him. He knew if he spoke it would sound as though it was directed at Face. He measured two long breaths before making a decision and taking a knee in front of the miserable young soldier. “You can’t stay here, Face.”

“I’m fine. I appreciate you stopping by, but I’m okay.” He hated that even in the darkened room he knew Hannibal could probably see his eyes swimming.

Laying a careful hand on a knee Hannibal held the LT’s gaze. “You need some help for a few days. Nothing wrong with that. Even soldiers can use a hand now and again.”

“I’m no soldier.”

That statement made Hannibal wince a bit.

“If you’re thinking I should go live on base, I really don’t want to. I wouldn’t get any rest there.”

“Wasn’t thinking that at all. I think you should come with me. I have plenty of space. You can have your pick of two rooms or the basement if you want.”

“You have a house?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I... I can’t do that.” Looking away from Hannibal’s face. Looking anywhere but at him, “I have to wait here.”

It was becoming crystal clear what Hannibal was dealing with. “Petersen told you to stay here?”

“He’ll be back soon.”

Hannibal’s heart cracked just a bit. He had a flash of the talented shooter, and the bold, carefree young man playing pool four nights previous. The one who knew who he was and what he had: confidence and beauty. The beauty was still there, well, at least some of it under the stressed eyes and bruising. The other? Not so much.

This was a situation Hannibal had seen before, be it husband and wife, girlfriend and boyfriend, drill sergeant and frightened recruit. Petersen was an abusive and controlling partner to the young man, the dynamics of their relationship strange and twisted. The Colonel was domineering and more than just a touch sadistic. Face was trapped in a cycle with no end. There was no question the harder he tried, the more would be demanded of him, the less he would be able to respond, much less deliver. Hannibal was feeling quite protective of the young man stuck on a forever spinning carousel of unmet needs, unrelenting demands, and a desperation to get off this ride.

Face was feeling raw and exposed. The man could see directly in him and there was no place to hide. Almost his entire life he’d been able to scurry, if not boldly step behind, a protective facade, his own unique armor. But not with Hannibal. Not any more so than with Petersen. No, Hannibal saw right through him. But not the way Petersen saw him, as something to be studied and examined for thin patches and fissures that allowed access to his fears and weaknesses.

He knew it was different the night he’d picked up the Army Ranger. Unfortunately, his attempts to brush the uneasy feeling of exposure aside had only postponed being called out. He’d also done some research himself, delving into the rising star officer and his exploits. With hopes of escape from the hell he’d been living he threw everything into first peaking the man’s curiosity; then a nonchalant, perfectly orchestrated, incidental approach and invite, followed by seduction. He wound the lure back to his apartment where it all fell apart.

Hannibal had turned him down. But the odd thing was he had also wanted to meet with Face to further discuss joining his unit. The realization of what the man wanted to discuss was late in coming, but when it dawned on him he felt a hope that had been lost to his past. The hope of an adoption or foster home. That lightness of being that had been shattered years before when his deep seated emotional issues rose to the surface and he, inevitably and without fail, found himself back where he started.

He was one of a group, a clique, a clan of boys and girls who, despite everyone’s best efforts, would age out of the orphanage and be set free into the world of adults. They were the ones who had been returned. Leaving them once again in the care of the Catholic Church. Merchandise that didn’t fit or whose shine had quickly worn off. Returned for a more suitable model.

Overworked and underfunded the priests and nuns understood their good wishes and love were spread mighty thin amongst the children in their care. Putting forth extraordinary efforts still couldn’t produce the one on one approach so many of these damaged children needed. What eventually was let loose went with the fathers’ and sisters’ fingers crossed in hopes their efforts had, at the very least, been good enough.

When he was assigned to Petersen he thought it was going to change. He actually believed maybe the bad voodoo spell cast over him had finally been broken. He made the mistake of buying into the possibility there was an officer who was willing to at least discuss a change in circumstance.

Hannibal’s gentle voice disrupted his pothole marred, washboard road trip down memory lane.

“He’s not coming back. Certainly not anytime today or this evening. Even if he shows later tonight you can’t stay here unattended all that time. You need food, you need to take all your meds. You need rest. You need to be able to put worries aside for a little while.” He studied the young man’s face knowing full well what he was about to say wouldn’t sit well, but needed to be said nonetheless. The conversation needed to be started. “He doesn’t care about you, Face.”

“He loves me,” was returned immediately, forcefully, unconvincingly.

“Someone who loves you wouldn’t do this to you.”

“He does love me. He says it all the time.”

“Let me guess. When he wants something. Maybe when you say no to him. Suddenly he loves you. Tell me this, Face. Does he love you when there’s nothing for you to give?”

Hannibal could see the storm within. He had not only found the wound, but had dug unmercifully into it. He watched as Face struggled to set his jaw, failing in the end as his eyes welled and he looked away. With elbow on the arm of the sofa he started to run his fingers into his hair, straight up from his forehead only to stop the motion as the act had become too much effort to accomplish. Instead he pressed his forehead into his palm, seeing but not recognizing the floor beyond.

Hannibal could almost hear the argument Face was conducting with himself. Could read on his face how he had almost talked himself into remaining with the devil he knew. As the kid lifted his forehead, folding those long, graceful fingers down to bury his lips into the backs of them, Hannibal saw the moment to strike present itself. Saw the exact moment Face was at his weakest.

It may have been taking advantage of the kid at such a low point, but it wasn’t in the spirit of abuse, Lord knows the kid had suffered enough of that. This was reaching out to coerce the young man into taking the first tentative steps into a better life.

The timing was perfect. “Come with me Face.”

Lips and nose still pressed to finger backs only his eyes shifted to the Major. They glanced at Hannibal’s eyes only for a second or two before dropping to his chest. “Okay.”


	4. Chapter 4

Parking his car in the driveway of a neat white colonial Hannibal announced, “Here we are.”

Taken aback by the structure, Face didn’t reply before opening his door. Stepping into all-American suburbia, he didn’t know what he’d expected when they reached their destination, but it sure wasn’t this. The image of the six foot plus soldier, who due to his tactical expertise had aptly been given the call name of Hannibal, was very much at odds with the trimmed hedges and carefully coifed lawn showcasing a ubiquitous home that could be found along the Atlantic as well as the Pacific and everywhere in between. It was so ... normal.

“You okay?” Hannibal was beside him holding both bags the two had packed.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah I’m good. Just taking a look. I’ll take one,” he said pointing at a bag.

“I’ve got them.”

The Major led the way to the front door. Shooing the younger man away from where he had set the bags to unlock the door, he insisted Face proceed him. Once inside Hannibal deposited the bags at the foot of the stairs and made a beeline to the dining room. Face had hung back, looking around, not sure where to go or what was expected of him.

Hannibal seemed to read his thoughts. “Come in, Face. Make yourself at home. I’m just going to pull a couple of steaks out for dinner. You want anything else now? I have ham, rye bread and cheese. Could make you a sandwich. Have eggs. Want an omelet?”

Face crumbled the empty Wendy’s takeout bag he held. “No. The chicken sandwich was enough. Thank you.”

“You can help yourself if you change your mind.”

Face was sure he wouldn’t change his mind. The Spicey Chicken Sandwich was lying heavy in his stomach. It was his first real meal in several days. What they thought was an appropriate diet in the hospital was not only tasteless, but often hard to identify. Hannibal hadn’t been wrong. Petersen had dropped him off at the door without looking back or asking if there was anything he needed. This breaded delight surrounded by lettuce, tomatoes, mayo and a bun was having much the same effect as his pain med and muscle relaxant. He felt a weight was on him zapping his strength. He needed to lay down before his knees buckled out from under him.

Looking around the neat living room he felt lost in the unfamiliar space. Taking a step toward the sofa to sit he paused and turned to the sound of a door opening behind him. A man possibly in his early thirties was letting himself in through the unlocked front door.

“Hey. Who are you?” He didn’t give Face a chance to answer. “Hannibal around?”

“He’s in the kitchen.”

The man himself was just rounding the corner, “Hi Bill. What are you doing here?”

“Am I intruding on something?”

“No. No. Bill, this is Lt. Peck.”

Before Hannibal could finish Bill had his hand out to shake, “Nice to meet you, Lieutenant.”

“Face.”

Bill eased himself forward a bit, turning an ear toward the young man,”I beg your pardon?”

“Face. Everyone calls me Face.”

Taking his hand back Bill now pointed a finger, “Face? You’re Faceman?”

“Yeaaaah?” Face’s eyes sought out the familiarity of the Major.

“Wow. Pleasure’s all mine.” He spun toward Hannibal, “You know who this is?”

Hannibal smiled indulgently. “For the most part.”

“This is Faceman.” Then back to the LT, “You’re a legend, man. Had no idea you‘re so young.” When he saw the confusion settle over Face he continued, “With the reputation you have as a ladies’ man I just figured you’d be older.” He noted the bruising along Face’s eye and cheek. “Had an accident?”

“You could say that,” Hannibal broke in. “Face, Bill’s my boom-boy.”

Clear as mud.

Bill laughed at the blank expression. “My specialty is in explosives engineering.”

“You’re Army.” Things were becoming a little clearer.

“Captain William Stewart,” Hannibal supplied.

“You coming on our team?” Bill was a bundle of enthusiasm. He brought to mind a friendly dog.

“Uh, I ... I don’t ...”

“It’s okay Face. No secrets from Bill or the rest of my boys,” then to Bill, “We’re going to be talking about Peru. Face is particularly handy with firearms.”

“Don’t have to tell me. Your reputation as a marksman is right up there with the other. So you comin’ with the team?”

Again Face sought out Hannibal, confusion clear. He hadn’t made the jump in his mind that he would actually transfer to Smith’s team. Things around him seemed to be moving faster than he could keep up with.

“He’s going to recuperate here for a week or two then we’ll see from there.”

“Great! Hope it works out.” Face thought he looked genuinely pleased and felt a warmth of welcome from the sincerity.

“So, what’s up, Bill? Gonna stay for a while? I’ll pull another steak from the freezer.”

“That’s tempting, but I really just came by to pick up the jacket I left here last weekend. Gotta date. I’ll just...” he pointed toward the stairs while sidestepping his way to them.

“Sure. Go ahead. Come on Face. Come sit down.” Opening the door to a backyard patio he added, “You look like you could use some fresh air and sunshine.”

Face made it as far as the door and was taking in the outdoor furniture when he heard from behind him, “Nice meeting you, Face. I’m sure we’ll meet up again soon.”

“Yeah, it was nice meeting you too.”

Bill gave him a bit of a quizzical appraisal, but didn’t voice his wonder at the hotshot marksman and lady killer presenting such a meek posture. Instead he waved past Face’s shoulder, “Later Hannibal!”

“Behave yourself tonight,” Hannibal huffed with amusement.

“I’m hurt. You know I’m always a gentleman.” A mock wounded look was completed with a hand on his heart. “Gotta go.”

“Have a good time, Bill,” Hannibal said through a chuckle to the man making a quick exit. He turned back to Face, “If I get you a beer, think you can relax a little?”

“I...I don’t know,” then added, “Are you sure this is alright? Me being here?”

“Of course it’s alright. My house, my rules. You’re more than welcome here. I’ll get you that beer.”

“You know, I really appreciate the offer, but would it be alright if I lie down for a little bit?”

“Oh, Face. I’m sorry. What was I thinking? Of course.” Once he’d convinced Face to come with him, Hannibal had managed to dismiss how truly wrung out the young soldier looked. Dark smudges under his eyes were amplified by bruising and general paleness. His gait was decidedly unsteady prompting the Major to question if the kid would be able to climb the stairs to a bedroom above.

Leading the way to the staircase Hannibal paused to collect the rucksacks. “You okay there kid? Need a hand getting up the stairs.”

Face was overtired. His first thought was he wasn’t at all sure he could negotiate the stairs. His second thought was of the kind nature of this man. It was all a little overwhelming. He felt a knot forming in his throat and a welling in his eyes.

The bags were returned to the floor. “Come on kid. Up ya go. I’ll be right behind you, okay?”

Biting both lips in an effort to ground himself Face headed up the stairs.

“First door on your right. Bathroom’s down the hall. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll get your bags.”

Face was left alone to look around the tidy room. A highboy chest of drawers and dresser along with the queen size bed made up a matching set. The side chair worked well with what looked like a handmade bed quilt. He hadn’t realized he was fingering it until he heard from behind him, “My Aunt Mary made that for me.”

Face pulled his hand away saying, “I’m sorry.”

Hannibal deposited the bags. “Nothing to be sorry for. It was made to be used.” Standing upright again he asked, “Anything I can get for you?”

“No. Nothing. You’ve done enough.”

“How about a bottled water. You need to take some meds?”

“Oh...yeah. Thanks.”

“Relax Face. You’re here to recuperate. Go ahead and get in bed. I’ll be back in a few.” With that he retreated closing the door behind him.

Face had quickly stripped down and climbed under the covers. Only when he heard the quiet knock on the door did he realize he hadn’t worn a T-shirt under his hoodie. He grabbed at the quilt pulling it up, fisting the sheets to his chin.

“Come in.”

When his host again entered the room, a bottle of water in hand, the possible exposure of bare skin made him uneasy. He understood the incongruity of offering his body to this man several nights before and now clutching at the bed linens, yet he held tight. There was a sense of safety that came with covering himself. Hannibal read the gesture for what it was. Face was lost somewhere between what’s appropriate and what’s not. His instincts on the subject had been frazzled.

“Get some rest. I’ll wake you later for dinner.”

“Thank you.” He further tightened his hands down on the sheet.

“Face. So you know, I’m calling General Morrison. I’m not going to tell him the whole story. He’ll hear it soon enough. I’m going to let him know you’re here and that I will be expediting your transfer paperwork to my unit. I’ll ask him to keep an eye out for it. Do you have a problem with that?”

“No?”

“Good. Where’s your phone?”

“There on the dresser.”

With the phone in hand Hannibal powered off the device, noting first there were no notifications of missed calls. He set the phone on the dresser saying, “Now get some sleep.”

“Sir?”

”Hannibal.”

“Hannibal. Did you mean that about no secrets? What you said to Bill?”

The Major knew exactly where this was going. “Can’t have rules without exceptions, kid. Besides, there are professional secrets and personal ones. Okay?”

“Okay.”

 

*******

 

Hannibal made his way back to the kitchen checking the freezer for the rest of their dinner. Frozen corn and a package of heat and serve garlic bread would work fine. Digging the defrosting tray out from a lower cabinet he contemplated the situation the young man safely ensconced in an upstairs bedroom had found himself in.

The senior officer had indeed glanced at the younger’s personnel file. And now, through the miracle of a newly available, at least to him, technology called e-mail Hannibal was able to print the kid’s records from files sent to him by Rosemary, Russ’ secretary. It was slow going when he initially lined up the computer files, but once one completed printing it could be deleted, freeing up memory space in the tower tucked under his desk. He put in a call to Russ, updating him as to the kid’s whereabouts and condition as the printer spat out page after page.

Settled at the table on his patio with the stack of paper all relating to Face, the Major was appalled by what had happened to this young man who by all rights should have been a superstar with compensation reflecting it. He had never once heard of a soldier so catastrophically lose the gains they had made through no fault of their own. Being brought back to the States from the Sandbox and thereby stripped of hardship duty pay was only the beginning.

Sorting through, tracking and backtracking, Hannibal learned on top of what he already knew about Petersen dominating Face emotionally and physically, he had systematically squashed any possibility of the young man properly progressing in rank. Had pulled the rug out from under him professionally and financially. Hannibal could only shake his head upon learning the kid was fluent in not one, but four foreign languages and able to read three more. He had at one time been eligible for FLPP/FLPB, not only Foreign Language Proficiency Pay, but bonuses too. He should have been at the top of the pay grade. Yet he hadn’t tested in three years, disqualifying him for the bump up. Hannibal couldn’t think of an instance when someone lost that special pay having once earned it, but Face had.

Aside from completing the sniper program, one of Face’s ASI (Additional Skills Identifier)pointed out he’d had AIT (Advanced Individual Training) in marksmanship which should have earned him any assignment of his choice. Add to that being a graduate of the US Marine’s Scout Sniper Program it was just his bad luck to have been assigned within Petersen’s sphere.

By definition, as a commissioned officer Face should have been a leader, a planner, one of the managers. Instead, professionally he had been relegated to a position barely above a civilian secretary. Hannibal noted Face had been passed by for what is generally a given. After a year and a half - two years he should have been moved up to the rank of First Lieutenant. By rights he was due to be closing in on Captain in another couple of years, but his stalled advancement put a crimp in that timeline. It was clear to Hannibal Petersen had tightened his control over Face by strapping him cash-wise. Forcing dependency on him. Hannibal had to wonder, how many people had seen the trouble the kid was in and had turned the other way.

The waste of this officer rattled the Major. It was incomprehensible these talents had been stifled. He could feel his heart rate rising as he considered a young man of this quality had determined his best hope was to whore himself out in hopes of joining a new unit.

If ever there was someone on his team who needed counseling, it was Face; although, Hannibal didn’t even want to suggest it. The therapy Face had access to could present its own problems. In the tough landscape of DADT it could be easily argued Face had brought disgrace and dishonorable discharge unto himself, not to mention inviting in one of the Army’s dirty little secrets. Even forced homosexual encounters far too often found the aggrieved given the boot. Reporting a same sex rape penalized the victim and set in action a net of protection for the offender. Most often in these cases the soldier is attacked by someone with senior ranking. To the Army’s thinking not as much money had been spent on the subordinate and the superior presumably had more valuable experience. Couple that with a hit to the Army’s reputation and it was easier all around to discharge the accuser. No, he would see how the kid coped in this new orbit before he decided whether he should or shouldn’t discuss the subject at all.

Hannibal had moved indoors as the evening set in, still nursing the now warm beer he had opened several hours before. The scotch bottle remained untouched in the cabinet and what was left of the beer went down the drain. Without realizing it the situation with Face gave him something, someone besides himself to focus on. He checked his watch and thought he should wake the kid soon.

 

*******

 

“Where is he?!”

“Whom are you looking for, Colonel?”

“You know damned well _whom_ ,” Petersen said, undisguised anger aglow in the last word.

“You’ll need to be a little more precise,” Hannibal countered. With that he had a notion. Releasing the interior doorknob he slid his hand upward along the door, stopping with it inline with his shoulder, positioned where he could summon the greatest force should he need it. At the same time he stepped his left foot back, bracing it firmly to the floor.

“... Step aside , Major.”

“No.”

“I said step aside, Smith. That’s an order.”

“This is my home. You have no authority to enter.”

“I’ll have you’re balls on a plate for insubordination. Step aside! Now!”

“No.”

Hannibal knew his calm demeanor was rattling the Lt. Colonel. He also knew in several days his own promotion would take place and they would be on level ground.

“I’ll be back with MPs you little prick.” A vein had risen from his forehead, snaking it’s way down Petersen’s temple. Waves of fetid anger rolled violently off the man.

“I’ll be waiting.”

“I’m taking you down for this, Smith.”

“What reason will you give the MPs to arrest me?”

“We’re going to start with insubordination.”

“I see. Maybe you could be a little more precise there too.”

“I’ve given you an order!”

“...demanding access to my home. And on what grounds? Looking for Lt. Peck?”

“That’s exactly right.”

 _What a stupid man_ Hannibal thought before leading him further down the hole. “Have you tried his apartment?”

“Of course I’ve been to his apartment.”

“Where else have you looked?”

“I came straight here. He has nowhere else to go!” Leaning forward a sneer on his lips, “I know it and I know you know it.”

“And you want him why again?”

“He was released from the hospital into my care. Look! None of this is any of your business! I’ve already warned you to keep out of it.”

Reaching a precipice, Hannibal was ready to shove the son of a bitch over the edge. “Face was released from the hospital...,” he glanced at his watch, “...some twenty-seven hours ago and you’re only checking on him now? I would imagine his release was based on you agreeing to look after him. He was in pretty rough shape when I saw him in the hospital. And now here you are. Finally getting around to checking on a soldier under your care and command.” Had he blinked just then, Hannibal would have missed the twitch in that distracting vein.

“I checked in on him earlier,” Petersen claimed.

“In person?”

“By phone.”

“And Face’s phone records will confirm that?”

The Colonel could only glare.

“I’d say your dereliction of duty trumps my insubordination. But we could check with Morrison on that. Though it will have to wait until morning.” He dropped his chin and ever so slightly leaned in. “After all, we wouldn’t want to disturb him at home... Would we?”

Not bothering to hear a last word or watch as the man moved back into the night, Hannibal swung the door shut. Turning the deadbolt he said, “He’s gone.”

Face thought he had been stealthy moving from the bedroom to sit on the top stair listening to the exchange.

Looking up the steps to the perched figure muted by the darkened hallway behind, the Major vowed, “I promise you this. I will put a headstone on Petersen’s career.”

Face didn’t register even a glimmer of a possibility Hannibal wouldn’t deliver


	5. Chapter 5

Petersen had been complaining long and hard about Hannibal. Pulling the Lieutenant without notice had caused an unnecessary hardship on him, he pointed out to Morrison. He could appreciate that Smith was down a man, but that shouldn’t be his problem. He had Peck trained for his needs and well settled in. The perfect assistant.

He understood Smith had recently moved up a notch and was now, like himself, a Lt. Colonel, but before the promotion was even in effect he was throwing weight around that was unbecoming of the rank. Smith was letting the promotion stroke his ego and it would save everyone a lot of headache if that kind of inappropriate behavior was reined in from the start. It should be made clear to Smith poaching personnel was off limits. Petersen noted he would appreciate it if this could be settled without any fuss and have the young officer returned to him immediately. He was certain the General could see the wisdom there, no need for Petersen to advance this any higher.

Morrison leaned back, elbows on the arms of his chair, fingers extended and touching at tips. With index fingers tapping his lips, Morrison examined the man before him, contemplating his best response before settling on, “Dismissed.”

Chagrinned, Petersen wasn’t sure he heard correctly. “Sir?”

“I said you’re dismissed.”

“So we’re in agreement?”

“No. Get out.”

“General, I don’t find this an appropriate respon...”

“You wanted this settled without further fuss? Well there you have it. It’s settled. Now get out or do I need to call the MPs?”

“General. Sir. I...”

“If I have to throw you out myself you’re not going to like it.”

What could the man say? He threw a salute unseen by the General who had returned to the paperwork on his desk. Before closing the door behind, he heard, “A little advice. Watch yourself George.”

Hurrying from the building he was determined to find that thankless little shit.

 

 *******

 

Face had arrived at the range early having arranged to meet Bill for their third session. He’d been recruited to drill the Captain on some finer points of sniper training. Hannibal had the previous week suggested Face help the Captain with drills. Bill had entered the program with the intent of honing stalking and reconnaissance skills. The actual marksmanship was secondary to his goals and not something he was a natural at. Enter Face. If anyone could help the Captain finish the course it was him. And in that ever active mind, their Colonel was devising how he could use a two man sniper/explosives team.

Still wondering how Hannibal had such faith in him, having only been on seven missions with just one counting as a kill before he returned to the States, Face took great pains to ensure he was refining what Bill was learning. Contradictions and other options could come later. The important thing was to give his all to Hannibal’s right hand, his XO.

That day they would work on positions. Something he knew from his own training hadn’t been given much consideration. One wasn’t always in a situation where they could lie flat. If you were confined to a small space you needed to be as accurate with the rifle set in the crook of an arm balanced on a knee as on your stomach with the gun held steady on its bipod.

Out of what was becoming an impressive personal firearms collection, Face brought his KBP VSK-94. A Russian made, silenced military and special police sniper rifle, officially it was operated by Russian military and police forces only. It was a less specialized weapon than his other rifles, one that was easily carried in urban settings. Technically the gun was contraband; however, when the opportunity presented itself it wasn’t that difficult in the end to acquire the Candy Apple Red 1967 Ford Galaxie 500 XL requested in trade. At barely seven pounds unloaded the rifle would make for a comfortable weight as Face pressed the Captain to twist and otherwise contort his body into lesser used firing positions.

This would be an easier lesson than the first two when he had Bill demonstrate where he fell on a proficiency scale in both shooting and stalking. The day before Face had taken his student’s M89 to pop off a few shots of his own. It helped him to know where any problems may lie by handling the weapon himself. Afterward Bill had seemed anxious, maybe a little unsettled. When Face asked if something was bothering him Bill confessed he’d never witnessed a shooter like Face. His accuracy was alarming and his ease using the weapons was more than disconcerting. It was chilling.

“Any infantryman can be a good shot,” Face had replied self deprecating.

“You’re different. You handle these rifles like someone picking up a basket ball and making a basket every single time without really trying. There’s none of that hefting the gun or lining up your shot like you’re putting in the goddamn Masters. You’re dangerous. You know that?”

 

Rolling the combinations on the case, his reverie was shattered by a voice behind him.

“Think you can just walk out, huh Face?”

Chest tight he responded before turning, “Please George, leave me alone.”

“Leave you alone?” Petersen huffed a laugh before continuing, “You know it’s not as simple as that. Or maybe you don’t. I’ll explain it, _again_. I’m your superior, Face. Always have been. Always will be. Have you forgotten who makes decisions for you? I tell you what you want and this isn’t it. You don’t have a say here. You know why that is, Face? Because you‘re not qualified. You don’t have the common sense it takes to make this kind of decision. Matter of fact, you’re kind of stupid. We’ve been over this before. Think Hannibal’s going to put up with that? He has too many other men to worry about without having to explain everything to you twice. Doesn’t need someone like you dragging down his whole unit.

“You’ve already made it bad enough. Keep resisting and you’ll be in for more than just the discipline you’ve earned up until now. You want to make things worse than they already are? Then keep defying me. I’m ordering you to come with me.” Petersen gave him to the count of three. “Now!”

“Hey,” Bill greeted, happy smile across his face. “Sorry I’m late, hotshot, but I’ve been on a call with Hannibal. Still got him here,” as evidenced by the phone he held to his ear. “What’s that?” he asked into the phone. “Sure.” Holding the phone out he waggled it in Face’s direction? “Wants to talk to you.”

“Hannibal?” Face said softly into the device, heart pounding.

“You okay kid?”

“Yeah.”

“Not what I heard.”

“Wha...”

“Heard you have a little situation there. I’d have sent in the Calvary but it seems the horses these days refuse to leave pasture for anything other than a parade, but I think a Ranger can manage. Bill taking care of things?”

Face glanced in the direction of the other two men. Petersen was standing where he’d been, fuming. Bill had a rifle case open on a nearby bench.

“I don’t know.” Bill was digging through the two bags he had brought aside from his rifle case, pulling random items out to be set on the bench. Face continued to look on as Hannibal spoke in his ear.

“Relax kid. You’re not alone. Bill will stick by you and bring you home.”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”

“You don’t want to go with Petersen, do you?”

“No sir.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I’m thinking it’s not the place to land.”

“If you’re talking about your place, that’s not what I meant. I was talking about my home. Bill will stay at least until I get there.”

“Yes sir.”

“Try to breathe, Face. We’ve got this. You’re not alone in this anymore. Okay?”

“Yes sir.”

“We’ll talk tonight.”

“Yes sir.”

Hannibal disconnected the call just as Bill announced he managed to come without his spotter scope. “Guess we’ll have to go get it Faceman.”

“Leave us Captain. The lieutenant and I have some business to discuss.”

“Sorry, Colonel. No can do,” the Captain chirped. “I have strict orders from Colonel Smith that I’m to stay with Lieutenant Peck here until I get the readings straight on my scope. Problem is I seem to have left my scope behind.”

“What are you playing at?” Petersen was most certainly unamused. “I gave you an order. Now leave us alone.” Bill didn’t budge. “This isn’t going to go well for either one of you,” the colonel barked as he grabbed Face’s shirtsleeve. “You’re coming with me.”

The last thing Face wanted was to have Bill in the middle of this. “It’s okay, Bill. I don’t want any trouble for you. I’ll see you later.”

“That’s not going to happen either,” Bill chimed in making Face almost cringe from the insubordination. “I have a direct order from our Colonel that I’m to stay with you until we get this scoping worked out. Sure hope this doesn’t turn into a tug of war with you in the middle. But if that’s the case, I guess we better get Hannibal back on the phone. Not something I want to do. Said he was about to step into General Morrison’s office.”

Petersen let go. Standing straight he tugged and smoothed his clothes before addressing Face, “Not the end of this Peck.”

“Come on Face. Help me pack this up and we’ll go. I’m almost positive I left the scope at Hannibal’s house.”

Petersen’s eyes lingered on Face long enough for awkwardness to settle over the two subordinates. Before turning to leave the colonel slow-licked his lower lip, “What you’re doing here. It’s only temporary, Face.” The two men watched as Petersen rounded the corner.

“I’m sorry Bill. I’m sorry you got stuck in the middle of that. I...”

“Hey, where were you? Put myself right smack dab in the middle.” He clapped a hand on Face’s shoulder. “It’s alright, Face. It’s why I’m here.”

An uncomfortable thought came to the LT. “Were you following me? Is that why I’m helping you? Because Hannibal’s having you follow me.”

“Follow you?!” Bill was laughing now. “No! But he’s had Jay following Petersen.”

Face was too stressed from the encounter to find the humor in Bill’s words. “Jay called me. Told me to hurry up, looked like there maybe trouble. I got Hannibal on the phone before I left my car.”

Brow furrowed, Face stared at the ground.

“Look. Face. I think I know what’s going on here. I can see it’s not what you want. I’m here for you, man. Just like Hannibal.”

“I don’t need protecting,” Face’s demeanor changed abruptly.

“Didn’t say ya did. But you need to understand you’re part of a team now. This is what we do for each other. And like it or not you don’t just have a CO in Hannibal. You have a mother hen. He watches out for his brood. Protects us all as best he can.” He waited for that slice of information to set in. “Come on. Let’s pack up and get outta here.”

”We weren’t going to need the scope today.”

”That’s too bad,” Bill said, hand deep inside a bag. “Cuz I got it right here,” he said holding up the piece of equipment, shit-eating grin on his face.

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

Bernedo, Pareja, Casariego and Lamadrid couldn’t shake the Americans. Whatever was put in the foreigners’ path was trodden over. Diversions didn’t work. Not one misdirect or fake had thrown the unit off their tail for long. It didn’t matter how much distance they had put between themselves and the soldiers it was always closed within hours. Nothing was stopping them. They weren’t being tracked. It was beyond anything so modern. No, they were being hunted. It was only a matter of time before they were taken down.

Well into the interior of the Andean Highlands they had convinced themselves the Americans would falter, were confident in the fact right up until they realized they’d been surrounded.

Bernedo had lost track of days. If asked, he would have said they had been stalked by the machine-like presence for a month when it had actually been less than a week. Any attempts to turn the tables on their pursuers had been met with the unit’s disappearance only to resurface with the upper hand. The millions of U.S. dollars poured into these Rangers’ training was on full display.

Bernedo became giddy when he recognized a whistle in the not far distance. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Lamadrid asked, annoyed as always.

“That whistle.” He couldn’t stop a giggle from escaping. “It’s them.”

“I didn’t hear anything,” Casariego joined in. “What are you talking about?”

Bernedo looked toward the darkened hills they had just descended. “It’s the Americans.” Now his laughter began percolating. _Must be going insane_ he thought to himself just before Pareja slapped him across the face.

“What are you laughing about, you fool?”

“They’ve got us. We’ve been stomping all over these hills trying to get away from them, but they’ve got us.” Why this had become such a hilarious situation was a mystery to him, but he couldn’t stop the laughing. That is he couldn’t stop until the whistle once again sounded.

Once he tuned into the sound two days back he slowly came to understand its meaning. For all the years he and fellow members of Shining Path had rained down terror over the peasants of Peru he had never before heard the distinct swooping reverberation easily mistaken for a bird call. “Listen.” Within a moment the hollowed whistle came again. Bernedo pointed upward with a finger. Raising his brows he moved the point to the direction they had come. “Now wait and you will hear the answer.”

Sure enough, there it was, this one coming from his left. They didn’t wait long when a third whistle sounded from the opposite side. Three of the men exchanged questioning looks, Bernedo once again took up his tittering.

“Shut up, you idiot!”

“Don’t you get it?” Bernedo asked wiping tears from his eyes. “They have us surounded. There’s nowhere left to go. They’ll drive us into that pass and block us off. The game’s up! We lose!” He plopped his ass on the ground and commenced more peels of laughter.

“Shut him up,” Pareja ordered.

Casariego unshouldered his rifle. Spinning it in both hands he struck downward connecting the stock to the side of Bernedo’s head. In a flash Bernedo was on his feet and had managed to yank the firearm from Casariego’s hands. “You’d rather die by my hands than theirs? Is that what you want?!” Intent on raising the rifle he didn’t hear the step behind him and never registered the killing blow to his skull.

 

Throughout the 1960s Abimael Guzmán had studied the writings of Marxist José Carlos Mariatequi, a fellow Communist Peruvian who had died at the age of thirty-five in the year 1930. In his discussions of interpretations of Mariatequi, Guzman had amassed a following of his own which grew into an organization with members still active to this day.

Begun in 1970 as a splinter from the Peruvian Communist Party, the group gathered strength throughout the 1970s. A former university philosophy professor known as “Puka Inti” - red sun in the Quechua language, though he preferred to be called “Chairman Gonzalo,” Guzmán launched a rebel war in 1980. So inspired by Mariatequi’s writings, he named the group Sendero Luminoso or Shining Path, homage to a quote by Mariatequi, “Marxism-Leninism will open the shining path of revolution.”

Shining Path quickly became a dangerously radical terrorist group. Not limiting his beliefs to Marxism-Leninism, Guzmán was well acquainted with China’s Maoist cultural revolution, pressing the ideology though preferring to make it more violent, leaning heavily on Stalinist Russia and the Cambodian Khmer Rouge, calling the group’s bloody pursuits a “fifth form of battle.” It was a combination of armed propaganda, guerilla combat mixed with collective assassinations, and sabotage. Brazen attacks, such as the notable 1984 aggression in the Ayacucho region where 117 peasant farmers were murdered for refusing to support Shining Path, became their stock and trade.

Though the growing of coca plants for their holistic properties was centuries old, it was drug traffickers who honed in on a market for processing it into an illicit and highly addictive product. Underrepresented and marginalized by their own government, peasant farmers found themselves caught between two worlds. Overrun by Shining Path backed drug traffickers it became the farmers who grew valleys of coca shrubs and learned to process the leaves into cocaine. It was no secret the Peruvian government was established and run by and for the metropolitan citizenry consisting primarily of Spaniard immigrants and their descendants. Little heed was paid to the indigenous peasants of the area who found themselves intimidated into establishing and working cocaine processing sites while supplying Shining Path and other groups, such as the Marxist guerrilla group Túpac Amaru Revolutionary Movement, with the final product to fund their rebel activities.

By the early 1990s Shining Path had been officially designated a terrorist organization by governments throughout the world which included the United States and the newly formed European Union. Shining Path’s guerrilla warfare methods escalated through the decade including the 1992 so-called Tarata bombing.

In July of that year two massive bombs were detonated outside the Central Bank of Peru on Avenida Larco near Tarata Street in Lima leaving one hundred fifty-five wounded and twenty-five dead. Set off in one of Lima’s wealthiest areas, it was only one of the bombs in a campaign bridging several years, though singularly the deadliest. Destroyed were a block of apartments, hundreds of homes and businesses. Buildings sustained damage within a fifteen block radius. It was the start of a week long bombing spree which when over resulted in forty deaths.

Shining Path members were no strangers to sadistic violence and bombs as was demonstrated the previous February with the murder of Maria Elena Mayans, a community organizer who was first shot at close range then blown up with dynamite. The force of one of the campaign’s bombs was thought to be equal to eighteen hundred pounds of dynamite.

In the 1980s mercenaries were used throughout South America to infiltrate opposing factions. Hired guns whose purpose was to quietly slip in and just as quietly slip out leaving dead and dying behind, or often, nothing at all. Known as “death squads” one such group, Grupo Colina, is thought to be responsible for kidnapping and disappearing nine students and a teacher all thought to be Shining Path and those who carried out the Tarata bombing.

By September of ‘92 Guzmán had been captured and would be sentenced to life imprisonment. Prior to the arrest 70,000 had been killed in the rebellion and counter-insurgency campaigns involving Shining Path and other groups. After the arrest membership to Shining Path began to decrease. Having never named a second, never having had a lieutenant, with Guzmán’s apprehension the organization began to lose focus.

Enter Guerrilla leader Oscar Ramirez Durand, who would declare a decade later Guzmán to be a “psychopath.” He took the helm of the group and attempted a resurgence in the jungle regions of Peru. Durand found he gained few followers. By 1994 approximately 6000 guerrillas had surrendered under a Peruvian Government amnesty program.

It was Durand and his followers Hannibal’s group was hunting. They had clean and clear orders - to identify, capture &/or neutralize Shining Path holdouts. Using an extension of the Peruvian government’s amnesty program, those the U.S. soldiers accumulated would be offered a version of the program. A chance to build new lives. In exchange they were required to assist in tightening the net around Durand for the U.S. supported Peruvian military to apprehend.

Despite political reluctance with the still looming ghosts of Vietnam only twenty years prior, a 1993 presidential directive shifted U.S. anti-drug efforts from Mexico and the Caribbean to so-called source countries, like Colombia and Peru. It’s well known the U.S. has never been good at non-political involvement. Despite that, the U.S. engaged in joint drug interdiction efforts with Peru and other Latin American governments under the National Defense Authorization Act of 1995.

 

Hannibal and Bill came upon the body of Bernedo not far from the opening of the gorge. Bill radioed ahead there would only be three entering the pass. While the bulk of his 20 man unit lay in wait on both sides of the pass and far exit, Hannibal and Bill brought up the rear, making enough commotion for their prey to believe the majority of the soldiers were close behind them.

Hearing shots fired the only thing certain was the sound was coming from ahead. Within the pass they knew sound travelled as wildly as any ricocheting bullet. They dropped, each rolling under a small tree that provided essentially no cover. There were indistinct shouts ahead, neither man able to make out the words.

Brushing aside a delicate branch for a better view Hannibal realized he was beneath the root cause of their mission. It was a coca shrub. He momentarily lost his concentration on the unseen activity beyond their view.

Recognizing the rhythms of American English, Bill said low across the expanse separating them, “That’s our boys, but I can’t make out what they’re say...”

He was cut off by another report. To Hannibal’s ears the gunfire hadn’t moved. It was neither closer nor more distant. He signaled Bill to advance. Their posture low and guarded the Colonel set the pace, a steady yet cautious trot.

The two soldiers had understood immediately the last report was a warning, more than likely a last chance to drop weapons. Within the gorge the remaining men would be given a chance to surrender, but if another shot were fired or threatened his team had, at their own discretion, the go ahead to ensure communistic martyrdom for one or all in a fashion not seen since the demise of Bonnie and Clyde.

And there it was, an all out volley. Hannibal and Bill hadn’t made it far between the natural walls before coming on a curve and noting the gunfire had ceased. Inching around, taking cautious peeks. Hannibal visibly relaxed, standing straight before whistling a questioning bird call.

“All clear, Colonel!”

The two weren’t surprised to find three men down. Corporal Jay Slattery stood, legs in a wide and ready stance, a safe distance from them, a small cache of firearms behind his feet. His special forces modified M4A1 carbine intent on the space between the two bodies, prepared to shift left or right if need be.

Sergeant Greg Treater was on his knees beside the third man.

“Treater. Report.”

“Dead, sir,” Greg called back.

“Slattery?”

“One dead. The other one might as well be.”

A hand to his ear with his eyes trained upward, Bill listened to the response on his earpiece from his report request. Addressing their Colonel he said, “We have a problem, Hannibal.”

Hannibal followed his point to see Face and Hernandez looking over the westerly top edge to what appeared to be a rock outcropping some fifteen to twenty feet below. Raising binoculars he made out the shape of a boot overhanging the ledge. “Who is it?”

“Tom? Read me Tom?” Bill was asking into his com, only peripherally hearing his Colonel’s question.

Listening in Hannibal heard Tom’s response. “Just a second, Bill.” Then muffled as if he were no longer talking directly into his device, “Joe! You hear me buddy?”

Face’s voice came across the com at the same time two more soldiers materialized at the precipice. “Sir, Captain Wheeler fell. He’s not responding.”

Sgt. Osgood and Corp. Johnson joined Treater by the presumably still breathing insurgent. Hannibal glanced their way and ordered one of them to call for extraction. “Be sure to tell them we have injuries. We need medical.”

Again looking at the activity above he saw there were now more personnel crowding the edge. Hannibal lost track of who was who. Speaking into the com again, “Face! Report. What the hell happened up there?”

There was a momentary pause before Face’s voice again came across, sounding exerted, “One of the targets had been behind another. I didn’t see him until he stepped out and was firing. I returned fire, but Captain Wheeler took a hit. He went over the side before I could grab him.” Hannibal noted the group above was parting as two soldiers could be seen backing to the edge.

Tom Hernandez broke in then. “The Lieutenant and I are going down.”

“Roger,” was the Colonel’s only reply. He knew better than to distract the men during their brief rope descent, though became impatient after they had been beside the fallen soldier for what seemed ions, in reality only a few minutes. “Somebody report!” he barked.

“He’s awake now, sir.” It was Face. “GSW hip. Looks like he took bad blow to his forehead.”

“Can you get him back up to the top?”

“Just a second.” Hannibal could hear a muffled discussion before Face was back, “That’s a negative.”

“Alright. We have extraction on the way.” He turned to the goings on behind him in time to see Greg Treater push one final chest compression and shake his head no.

Without being asked, Osgood was finishing a call with coordinates read from the new fangled, handheld GPS device. “Extraction fifteen minutes out.”

Hannibal briefly contemplated how it felt they were in the middle of nowhere, yet the Andean highlands where they stood were relatively close to a Peruvian military base. After checking in with his XO who thankfully assured all men were accounted for with only the one injury, he turned his attention back to the three men on the ledge. “Face?”

“Yes sir. He seems to be stable, but elevated heart rate.”

“Chopper will be here soon. Do you have enough room if they drop a basket?”

After a brief conference he came back with, “It’ll be tight. But we can do it.”

“Roger.”

Again in Radar O’Reilly fashion, Osgood already had the channel to the chopper crew for Hannibal to make contact. He reached them just as the distant reverberation of the helicopter’s rotors hit his ears. “Yes on a ledge...”

Bill half listened as he gazed through his binoculars. When the Colonel again raised his own he informed his XO, “They don’t think they can land.”

“Shit.”

In the end, the Chinook not only couldn’t land but was causing enough of an updraft within the confines of the canyon the pilot was unable to hover the beast level long enough to drop a basket safely. Having missed Face by what looked like only inches as it swung uncontrolled, Plan B needed to be devised and implemented.

Trying to lift the man back up over the craggy surface of the rock face was out of the question. He would need to be secured to one of the men and carefully rappelled down. The chopper would land at the entrance of the pass with the medical crew coming on foot to meet them.

“I’ll take him down,” Face announced after a longer line had been fashioned and sent their way.

“No Face. Help Tom secure him then you go back up. You got that Bill?”

“Roger,” Bill confirmed as he was midway through a sentence already communicating to those above to assist Peck in his climb.

“Really. I can do it,” came Face’s voice.

“Help Tom then get your ass back up top.” Hannibal was in no mood for discussion, perturbed as he was with the lack of imagination shown by the chopper pilot. He and the rest of the little audience of eight on the ground watched as Face appeared to double check the makeshift harness, sending the two over the edge before starting his ascent.

This was a stupid way of having to handle this situation. It was 1995 and they were winging it. Hannibal’s mind wandered back to Fort Lewis in Washington state. While based there he heard stories of a pilot who was like no other. An Air Force man stationed at McChord Air Force Base back in the days before there was discussion of joining it and Lewis to became a joint base. It was said the young man could fly virtually any aircraft, put him in any cockpit and he would work magic.The Army was lucky to have him resign his Air Force commission only to re-enlist into the Army and diving headfirst into the Ranger program. Hannibal subsequently heard the man was in a mental healthcare facility in Mexico after having lost his grip on reality after being loaned out to a spook named Decker.

This was another brick in the canyon holding all the reasons for Hannibal’s earnest distrust of the CIA. Funny thing was they were all named Decker. Every single one of them. Last time Hannibal had the misfortune of having to deal with one he automatically referred to the man as Decker, but was corrected with a brusque, “The name’s Lynch.”

 _Bet that Murdock kid could have managed_ he thought to himself as his attention was called to his left by the sound of footfalls trotting in his direction. Not surprised when the medical team came into view, he was pleased to see who was among them.

“Julie! Am I glad to see you,” he called to the approaching group. Along with two medics, one carrying a stretcher overhead, the other two aluminum cases of medical supplies, was Major Julia Hoffman. A physician he knew well and trusted to care for his men. How she ended up in this Peruvian intervention he hadn’t a clue, but was thankful she was there.

“Where?” She asked leaning on her knees for a brief respite after the dash from the transport.

Hannibal pointed at the rock face to the bundle of soldier slowly working its way to ground level. “Bill, sort things out up top.”

“Will do,” his trusted XO said before communicating orders for everyone but two to descend to the south and wait by the bird. When Hernandez and Wheeler were to the ground the last two were to collect the line and join the others.

“So we have a gunshot?” Julie asked.

“That and a blow to the head,” the colonel replied, hand to bill of his helmet, an ad lib extension of the visor.

Julie was squatting on the ground, case open, gathering bandages. “Any loss of consciousness?”

“Yes.”

“How long?”

“I... I don’t know.”

“More than ten minutes?”

“I don’t think so.”

The medics had moved to the base of the cliff and were helping the two men land their feet. Julie was up and jogging to her patient and the clenching feeling Hannibal had in his chest was relaxing. He looked to the three bodies with half a mind to leaving them where they fell. Instead he glanced at Osgood who was already calling for a few extra men to get body bags from the chopper and come help carry the bodies out.

With the unit and medical team aboard, the Chinook rose from the earth. Surveying the men, Hannibal noted they all had a look of fatigue about them. It had been a grueling mission through Amazonian jungle and the rugged terrain of the Andean foothills and mountainous landscape. That they were going home with as few injuries as were dispersed through the group was a miracle.

Before setting out Hannibal had taken Bill, Wheeler, and Hernandez aside instructing one of them was to be at Peck’s side at all times. The kid hadn’t been in the field in going on two years and they were to watch over him not only for his protection, but to assess his work.

Standing alongside the bunk holding Wheeler who was surrounded by monitors and IVs, Hannibal looked sternly at the man. Leaning forward he said in a low voice, “You had one job.”

Through eyes shining in a morphine induced glaze Joe did his best to focus on his Colonel when he whispered, “And he’s just fine, isn’t he?”

Chuffing a laugh Hannibal smiled wide. With a light squeeze on the shoulder he nodded and added, “Well done, Joe.”

Face wasn’t making eye contact with Hannibal and seemed to be keeping himself separate from everyone else. Sitting beside him the Colonel asked, “Doing alright, Kid?”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“I thought you were supposed to be a bit of a conman.”

Face’s eyes widened at the statement.

“That was the worst impression of someone being alright I’ve seen in a long time. What’s up?”

Face looked away then clearly made a decision. “I could have brought him back down. I know how to rappel as well as the next guy.”

Hannibal thought the kid looked all of sixteen in that moment. Patience was in order. “I’m sure you can. What I’m not sure of is your medical training. Take Tom for instance,” he pointed out with a nod of the head the man who had lowered Wheeler down. “He’s good enough when it comes to rapels, but being an MSC officer makes him invaluable when it comes to handling the injured,” he noted about the Medical Specialist Corps Officer. “From what I saw and heard your marksmanship dropped Joe’s shooter with one perfectly placed kill shot to the head. I can tell you with absolute certainty Tom never would have hit that mark. Just not his specialty. When I give an order, nine times out of ten I have a good reason for it. Understand?”

“Yes boss.”

Before standing to go to Bill for a one-on-one he lighted a single pat on Face’s knee adding, “You did good, Kid. You should be proud of yourself.”

 

 *******

 

Always the last to board a flight, Hannibal gathered his men and ensured there were no stragglers left behind. Conversely, he was always the first to disembark. The first step off the boarding bridge into the Atlanta terminal always gave him pause. He could feel the immediate change in atmosphere as those waiting let out a collective breath when they saw him, the first person exiting wearing military garb. It signaled their loved ones were home.

Landing in Atlanta was always the letdown after the high Hannibal got from deployment and hands-on missions. Though he had friendships throughout the ranks there was no one with whom to celebrate a homecoming. Hadn’t been for several years now and certainly not since arriving back in Georgia.

There had been a time back in Washington when he would see his men off as quickly as possible, often hustling them along, before dashing to the luggage carousels. From there he made his way to the outdoor departure drop off to find the dark, slate blue Audi driven by Andy. Seldom was his lover there to see him off, preferring to make his goodbyes in the cocooned safety of their home, but unless he was himself out of town, Andy always made time to be at the airport or McChord Airbase when Hannibal flew in. Always there to give a gentle squeeze of a hand saving a proper welcome for the privacy of their home, the home where Hannibal became John.

Thanks to Andy, John’s homecomings were warm and welcoming. Time permitting, a meal would be waiting for last minute additions; otherwise, the home delivery would arrive in short order to be served on a preset table. The shower was stocked with necessities and extras alike. Crisp clean sheets were on the bed along with a clean set of civvies. Out of the shower and again dressed, a bottle of wine would be opened to breathe and a well chilled beer placed in his hand.

Andy’s calm nature belied the efforts he took to be sure John was cared for. When home he was pampered. His man did all he could to take the burdens of everyday life off the soldier’s shoulders. When home he no longer needed to be the adult. The weight of responsibility was lifted from his shoulders. He was no longer the senior commanding officer, but instead, Andy’s young lover.

But that was over.

He watched as one by one his crew departed the plane into open arms. Perry’s wife gave him a peck on the cheek, displaying at even a relatively young age she was a veteran Army wife. Their teenage daughter standing aside, arms crossed, looking bored. That is until Perry said her name and she once again was daddy’s little girl. Just as Tim’s arms were full of a squirming and squealing girlfriend, Jamie’s were full of a gurgling infant. There were a handful of single soldiers who had waited for each other to move on in a group like a bachelor band of wild horses.

Tom had split off from them back in South America to accompany Joe to a VA hospital in Texas. Taking a peek down the ramp, the last two of his men were approaching side by side. Bill stopped beside him to transfer a paperback from a jacket pocket to a carry-on. Face stopped halfway from the exit to the attentive greeters once again looking a little lost. Bill tended to move with Hannibal like a coupled hunting hound and was beside him when the Colonel clapped a hand on Face’s shoulder saying, “Come with us, Kid.” With Hannibal’s aversion to returning to an empty home he couldn’t be more grateful to have his XO and now this blue-eyed Lieutenant accompany him after these excursions. And from the look Face gave him, the young LT felt the same way.

 

It was the morning after their arrival. Hannibal had been worn out the previous evening saying an early goodnight, leaving the two young men with their beers and a movie. Walking through the house as the sun rose, he was happily surprised to see the paper plates and bottles had already been pitched along with the empty pizza box. _Must have been Face_ he thought. _Bill doesn’t do shit before he goes to bed._

Bleary-eyed he set the coffeemaker for a full pot. Relieved there were bagels still in the freezer he pulled the entire bag and checked the date on the cream cheese. With his prized mug in hand, a gift from years gone by circled by a mountain range it contained a miniature elephant head formed from ceramic in the bottom of the cup, he sipped his coffee waiting for the toaster to pop up. With a whiff of singed bread he looked to the toaster only to find smoke billowing from the contraption.

While shaking the entire body and yanking the release lever he repeatedly called the small appliance a bitch. Frustration was setting in because this is what Andy did. He fixed all these little problems around the house and never complained. Most times John didn’t even know something had run amuck. The only evidence of disaster adverted was the scent of his personal superhero’s cologne in the air. Not only did he handle these things, he had infinite patience with John and his ineptitude around the house. When asked why, he would say it was the least he could do for the man he loved and most particularly when he returned home safely.

 

This homeownership is too much of a pain in the ass. Never should have bought the place to begin with. He had only done so as he’d had one back in Washington. He’d sell it and move on base if it weren’t for his boys. The house had become a refuge for some and the occasional respite for almost all.

Nonetheless, here he was unable to free a bagel from the death grip of a toaster. It was stupid things like this that could bring out an angry response in him when he was reminded of his devastation over leaving the love of his life behind. The stainless steel incinerator would have been heaved out the door or dropped in the garbage had Face not wandered in just then.


	7. Chapter 7

“Morning,” Bill mumbled, shuffling through the living room on the way to a cup of morning elixir.

“Good morning,” Face hadn’t lifted his eyes from the rental section of the paper.

“Smells like a charbroiler in here,” was called from the kitchen.

“Hannibal had a run in with the toaster.”

“I’ve never seen anyone so domestically dysfunctional than that guy in my life.” Bill was leaning in the doorway, sipping his coffee.

“Yeah. He was threatening to throw the toaster away cuz he couldn’t get his bagel out.”

“Typical. Where is he?”

“Went to get dressed. What do you mean ‘typical’?”

“He needs a husband around the house. Someone to take care of his honeydew list.”

“Honeydew list.”

“You know. The chore list a wife makes up. ‘Honey, do this. Honey, do that.’ I got ‘em all the time.”

“You’re married?”

“Divorced.”

“Oh. Sorry to hear that.”

Bill shrugged a shoulder. “It is what it is. What are ya lookin’ at?” He asked pointing with his cup to the paper.

“I need a new place to live.”

“Only got a week til the end of the month.”

“Yeah I know. I wanted to do it before we went south, but didn’t have the time. I already gave notice. Might have to move on base.”

Hannibal hadn’t heard the earlier details of the conversation but was pleased with the natural flow. Bill was good for Face. Closer in age and a soldier through and through. With an amiable and happy disposition, Hannibal could clearly see the change already as the young LT slowly let his defenses down around his XO.

“You’re moving on base?” He refrained from mentioning the kid’s earlier objections to doing just that. “Morning, Bill.” Bill lifted his cup in greeting as Hannibal collected his car keys.

“I gave notice at my apartment, but it’s looking like there isn’t anything available for another month.”

“What about your furniture?”

“I don’t want it. Don’t like looking at it.”

There was no comment to that. It was understandable Face wouldn’t want reminders of the situation he was in living in the sad little hovel. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need or as long as you like.” He raised his hand to silence the LT before he could start. “It’s not a problem. You’re not putting me out.” He had collected his jacket from the closet. “Think about it. I’m going to the post office and my office on base. Need to collect my mail. Norm’s Barbecue should be open when I’m done. If you guys want to stay for lunch I’ll pick up ribs.”

“Sounds good. You staying Face?”

“Huh...Sure. That sounds good.”

Hannibal smiled as Face’s initial hesitancy turned to obvious pleasure in being included. “Alright guys see you in a few hours.”

 

*******

 

Aside from his clothes and the miniature gang box that held his firearms, Face had few things he valued: box of photos; certification paperwork; diplomas; checkbook, statements and registers; only a few miscellaneous items one accumulated in everyday life. He had three relatively small boxes holding the few belongings he needed or wanted. Looking around the apartment the only other thing that meant anything to him was a Bible on the lamp table. It wasn’t the subject, but the book itself, given to him by Father Magill. Inscribed inside with the dates Face had entered and moved on from the orphanage along with a brief note, “Be true to yourself Templeton, Blessings, FM.”

Taking it to the bedroom he placed it gently in a box when he heard a knock at the door. He was looking forward to this. The moment the first piece of furniture was hauled out to the U-Haul on it’s way to being donated.

The knocking came again as he took the corner from his bedroom to the living room. Opening the door the smile on his face and the words he spoke, “Impatient much?” both fell as gracelessly as wet sand. “What are you doing here?”

“That’s the best you got?” Petersen asked with a smile.

Face stepped away as the Lt. Colonel pressed forward. Old habits die hard.

“Been hearing good things about you. Understand you did a respectable job in, where was it?”

“Peru.”

“Right. Peru.”

Face unconsciously reached across and around to hug himself, a habit he’d had since childhood. A subconscious way of reassuring himself during difficulties.

“I’ve missed you.” Face couldn’t help flinching from the stroke to his cheek that accompanied the gentle voice.

When there was no reply Petersen moved on, always aware he could control the kid with just the right words. “You know how much I love you, Face. It’s been unbearable without you. I need you to come back now, it’s been long enough. I know we argue sometimes, but that’s because we love each other. And let’s be honest Face. No one will love you the way I do. No one.”

“It hurts too much to be with you.”

“Aww Face. We’ve talked about this before and we agreed it isn’t that bad. Not when you consider you’re, well , damaged goods. I see through it though, where other people don’t. They just see the whore. Not me. I see more than that.” _Well played_ he thought to himself. _Make damned sure he remembers he’s meat_. He could see Face’s resolve crumbling. “Tell you what, there won’t be anymore discipline. I promise.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“What kind of thing is that to say? Not stepping off on the right foot, are you? You can believe me. You just remember not to make me mad. You know it’s your own fault you make me do those things to you. You understand that, right?”

Face was holding himself tight staring at the floor.

Petersen was none too happy at the lack of response. “Answer me. You don’t want to make me mad just when we’re putting things back together. You don’t want me angry, do you?”

“No,” Face all but whispered to the carpet.

“That’s right.” Petersen reached out, rubbed a hand up and down the LT’s sleeve. “I understand you’re overly sensitive, but I suppose that’s why I love you so much.”

George could feel Face tense when he moved his hand up to cup his cheek. “Tell you what. Pack some clothes and we’ll go away for the rest of the weekend. Go on.”

“No, George. I can’t. I’m waiting... waiting for...”

But he was cut off. “Who?! Who are you waiting for? Is it that smartass Captain? So you’re seeing him now?” His voice was rising and with it the Pavlov-like fear reaction within Face. “Is that it Face?” anger creeping in.

“No. I’m not seeing anyone. Bill and I are just friends.”

“Just friends?! You don’t have friends! You haven’t earned them! You can have friends when I say you can have friends!” Petersen could hardly contain the desire to strike Face, but he stepped away.

It was then he noticed the change in the apartment. The furniture was misplaced as though it had been moved, shifted. A plugged in vacuum randomly stood sentry in the middle of the room. The few pictures on the walls were gone. In the kitchen area cupboards and drawers stood open and empty, boxes overflowing with pots, towels and gadgets sat on the countertops. A broom and mop leaned in a corner with a bucket nearby.

“What’s all this? Are you packing?”

“I’m moving.”

“Where?!” He didn’t wait. “Answer me!”

Face winced but remained mute.

Petersen barely kept control of himself. “I want to know where you’re going.”

Nothing.

“You’re making me angry. Sure you want that?” Petersen took hold of his chin to force Face into looking at him, but the younger man shook his head away.

There had been a shift. He knew Face still feared him yet there was a determination in his defiance. It was becoming clear Face was building his wall faster than Petersen could tear it down. His shots were damaging, but not having the effect he was accustomed to achieving.

The Colonel needed to gather himself for a new approach. This wasn’t going the way he’d planned, or better put, assumed it would go. He had to ask, was it possible he actually was losing Face? That wasn’t something he was prepared to do. “Don’t do this to me Face. Not after all we’ve been through, all we’ve been to each other.” Even to his own ears it sounded corny but he pressed on. “I can’t live without you. Don’t you understand that? Knowing I would rather die than lose you? I mean it Face. There would be no reason for me to go on. Do you want to be responsible for the bullet in my head? It’s what you would force me to do.”

“That maybe the best for everyone, George.” Both men’s heads shot up and around to the voice.

Hannibal Smith had arrived.

Petersen glared at the presumed intruder, who it appeared had brought along a sidekick. His head whipped back around to Face. “Is this where you’re going?” A glare was shot Bill’s way. “And this guy again. Your new fuck?” Then directly to Bill, “Or did you even know he took it up the ass?”

Face was mortified, but didn’t attempt to acquiesce as he had that day at the range.

Bill didn’t miss a beat. “Gotta admit I never thought of him that way, but now that you mention it his ass _is_ one of the most attractive I’ve seen on just about anyone.”

“Get out, George. Leave him in peace.” This from Hannibal.

Petersen spoke low to Face, so wound up in his dom role he didn’t consider the others may hear, “If I leave now you won’t see me again. How will you feel when you read what’s happened to me?”

“For the love of God, George, quit talking about it and just go do it. We’ve got work to do here.” Hannibal had no interest in toying with the man, just wanted him gone.

Bill had moved to stand beside their LT.

“Some soldier. This is why I brought him back from the sandbox. Look at him! Pathetic. A fucking coward.”

Bill dropped a hand on Face’s shoulder. “Well he’s ours now and we couldn’t be happier to have him.”

Hannibal huffed a laugh looking at his men with an indulgent smile then to Petersen, “Look George, we’ve only got the truck for three hours. Are you going to leave or are we throwing you out?”

Petersen stood tall before smoothing out his clothes, a gesture Face knew well. Something he did often after a strike, a choking or when he’d strip Face down but only opened the zip of his own fly. Before he could pass through the door Hannibal dropped his arm across, grasping the frame. “Show up at my door again, George, I’ll shoot you.” Petersen opened his mouth, but Hannibal trounced on his words. “Try it.” He dropped his arm and stepped into the room.

Bill had been standing beside Face with his hands on his hips watching his badass CO in action. Face stood looking lost.

Dropping an arm around Face’s shoulders Hannibal asked, “You okay, kid?”

Face wiped furiously at his eyes with the heel of his hand, reluctant to answer. What if the truth came out? What if he said he wasn’t okay? He’d be proving George right.

Under Bill’s watchful eye he was feeling small until the XO said, “Let’s get this done. We need to get you out of here. So everything goes to Salvation Army? Nothing you want to keep?”

Hannibal gave him a brief snug as a shuddering breath left Face’s lips. One more swipe at his eyes and they could see him visibly pulling himself together before finally answering, “There’s a few boxes on the bed and the gang box over there I’m keeping. Otherwise it all goes. I have the two Hefty bags for garbage, but I think I got it all.”

He sniffed and wiped his eyes once more just as Perry was walking in the still open door.

“Sorry I’m late. Erin’s car wouldn’t start, she had to get our daughter to the dentist. Dome light was left on, so all it took was a jump.... Hey, you alright there Face?”

“He’s fine. Just took a bit of a blow,” Bill jumped in slapping Face on the back. “More of a surprise than anything, hey buddy?”

“Yeah. Surprised.”

“He’s okay, but enough of that. Let’s get going here.” Hannibal interjected.

“You’re the boss. Right Face?” Bill chimed in happily.

Pushing a smile, Face agreed, “Yep, the boss.”

 

Bill and Perry were on their way to the Salvation Army leaving Face and Hannibal behind to finish cleaning. Hannibal was thankful barely a trace of the awful stain still remained on the carpet after having been cleaned earlier. _Hardly noticeable_ he thought. _But still a hell of thing to live with_.

Returning from putting the last box in the back of his vehicle he clapped his hands together saying, “Okay. That’s that. Let’s get out of here, Kid.”

“Hannibal?”

“Hmm?”

“Bill wouldn’t ever say anything, would he? About George I mean.”

“No. And remember, this is his second run in with the guy. Bill’s a live and let live kinda guy. His concern is for you. He likes you.” Then adding with a chuckle, “And that’s not just because his chances of picking up a date are better when he hangs out with you.”

“Thank you, Boss. Thank you for everything.” Hannibal wasn’t expecting the hug he was wrapped in and automatically held tight in return before he’d realized.

The older man was taken by the warmth passing from Face’s chest to his own. It was both comforting and uncomfortable. A genuine guilt inducing pleasure. “You’re welcome, Face.” Disentangling himself he added, “Come on. Let’s go.”

 

*******

 

Bill had passed his sniper training via the US Army, but Hannibal had taken Face aside asking him to continue drilling with him. Sniper training involved much more than being able to shoot straight. Face was a Marine Scout Sniper trainee, the best of the best. All branches of the service send their outstanding snipers to the Marines for their grueling three month course. One could either pass or fail. There were no do overs. Face had already proven himself to be a master instructor and Hannibal was confident he would bring out the best in Bill and school him on the fine points.

So many factors need to be calculated before a bullet leaves a shooter’s barrel. Wind, heat, altitude, mirage effect to only name a few meant snipers spend inordinate amounts of time practicing both on and off of the firing range, honing skills. The image of a lone gunman picking off heads of state or generals in foreign armies is mostly Hollywood spin. Snipers typically work in pairs, a sniper and a spotter, and two other skills carry as much weight as marksmanship.

Contrary to the often noted legendary shots fired, snipers are more often used for reconnaissance or as a first wave. Their training involves acute observation. They are to report back what they see in a particular area in a detailed and objective manner. A sample report could consist of observing an object biological in nature; with a center section approximately eight inches long and twelve inches in overall height; propulsion appears to originate with cylindrical posts of approximately six to eight inches located at the four lower corners; another post is attached at one end of the center and it includes a curl toward its upward tip; at the opposite end is a rounded yet wedge shaped object topped with two triangular shaped protrusions capable of independent movement; the entire surface is covered in what looks to be a soft material of mottled colors with random black stripes. The sniper is responsible for mentally documenting and reporting the object. It was up to intelligence to identify it as a tabby cat.

Be the assignment to lay ground fire to cover a unit’s approach, cause mayhem within the enemy’s ranks, identify players, determine ranking, reconnaissance, or acting independently should the opportunity arise, the sniper team are masters of stealth. In order to accomplish any of the aforementioned the two person team must be reasonably close to their quarry. To get within yards of an enemy’s position can take days of fractional movement covered in the native vegetation attached to their ghille suits. Stalking is an art form. The stealth of a team is the the best barometer of their success and safety. A team must be able to move unseen to the very edge of the opposition. Aside from rifles, probably the best known of sniper tools are the ghillie suits they wear themselves and often create for their rifles and scopes. With canvas and netting attached, the soldiers are able to adhere camouflage such as local foliage allowing them to disappear into to landscape.

The 1990s were a decade of fast moving innovations. With as much time as Face spent on the range he was often a witness to new technologies and more than once asked his opinion on the usefulness of an item. He was told there would come a time when spotters would be in possession of handheld computerized meters to assist in the sometime tedious calculations involved in taking out a target. Though he hadn’t been utilized as well as he should have been before returning to the states he was well aware for how often a sniper team could take cover on a roof or behind a building or nestled in a natural bunker, there were more times they were in the open hiding in plain site. The quicker and more accurately they could calculate, the quicker the could begin a painfully slow retreat.

Each spotter was considered a lead sniper in training and Hannibal trusted Face to bring out the best in his XO. So weekends often found the two building camouflage or playing a KIM game in Hannibal’s backyard. The game of observation often consisted of Face hiding objects in plain sight throughout the backyard. A pen cap in the grass, a piece of scotch tape wrapped around a twig, a watch battery along the back fence are examples of items placed amongst the everyday and garden fixtures. His student would be given a set amount of time to search a predetermined area to find as many out of place items, with or without a scope, as he could before Face called time and instructed him to turn his attention to a new area.

Bill had long graduated from writing down his findings as he went. Just as in the field he would need to store that knowledge and be able to recite it back in the most basic of terms without actually using proper names. Face had recruited Hannibal into the mix. Later, maybe over dinner or sometimes after the passing of days Bill would need to not only rattle off his findings but describe them well enough for Hannibal to be able to decipher just what the hell he was talking about.

Hannibal would sometimes watch the two from the opposite side of the sliding glass doors of his home. Other times he would show up unannounced at the range, something he was doing more and more often. He found himself drawn there with a reasonable excuse to look on the LT. There was a beauty in Face that was stroking something he held closed. Young and lean the kid’s muscles moving beneath his shirt as he lifted a weapon or lined up a shot Hannibal found mesmerizing. His light touches to Bill, adjusting the set of a finger or straightening shoulders to the target the boss could almost feel on his own person. He felt a pull he found harder and harder to resist, unsettling in it’s focus and strength. A pull he was losing a battle with.

One evening the Colonel fully took back control. While silently glancing at Face as he sat at the patio table cleaning and oiling one of his handguns he made a decision he knew was best. After talking with Bill he knew his Captain’s mission had been as well accomplished as the Lieutenant’s. All the while Face had been drilling Bill, Bill had in turn been drilling Face.

Face was an intelligent and capable young man. He just needed more experience and the training all soldiers received throughout their careers until the day they said goodbye to the military. Someone with more experience under their belt would have understood Hannibal’s order back in Peru for Tom to lower their wounded man down. Had he had more time in the field Face would have remembered the importance of memorizing each person’s rank and specialty within the unit and know who does what and who would be called upon for even the unexpected tasks.

Bill had assured Hannibal their project was proceeding at a lightning fast pace and the results were beyond expectations. This, the Colonel told himself, was proof he had it all wrong. Instead of keeping him to attach to Bill, it was time to take off the training wheels and send the kid off solo. He told himself it had nothing to do with his growing attraction to the handsome young man with azure blue eyes and a growing confidence in himself. This was what was best for Face. His own desires were best kept in the past. Best to keep them tamped down. DADT was the rule of the day, but if the truth came out, Hannibal’s career would be over. Sure it was an about face, but the kid would understand.

 

*******

 

“Who are these guys?” Face asked Bill nodding at a photo.

“Friends of Hannibal’s.”

“They around here?”

“Don’t think so. Least I’ve never met them, and I’ve been with him since he came back here from out west.”

“Where out west?”

“Washington. He was with the 2nd Ranger Battalion at Fort Lewis.”

“I’m from out west too.”

“Oh yeah? Where?”

“California.”

“California? What part?”

“LA.”

“What the hell you doin’ here? Why aren’t you in the movies?”

“Pfft...yeah right.”

“Do you _ever_ look in a mirror? So, you been to Lewis?”

“No. Only been to Washington once and that was before the army.”

Hannibal walked through the midst of soldiers with their wives and girlfriends on his way from the kitchen, a bottle of BBQ sauce in hand.

“Hey Hannibal, Face here was just saying he’s been to Washington state.”

“Have ya, now?”

“Yeah. Me and a couple other guys hitchhiked up there for a concert when we were in high school.”

The Colonel nodded his head in acknowledgment. “Grew up in California, didn’t you?”

“Yep. I was asking Bill who those people are in the picture.”

“Friends. Medium rare steaks all around, right?”

That brought an abrupt end to conversation about the photo, though it didn’t stop Face from taking one more look at the handsome man in the navy blue suit standing beside the boss in the picture. As tall as Hannibal with dark, nearly black hair. Even at the distance needed to include all five people in the photo one could make out ice blue eyes in such contrast to the dark hair and brows. Judging by the cut of the suits worn and absence of grey temples the Colonel now sported, Face guessed the photo to be a decade old. He thought it was funny, after all this time living in the house he’d never paid it much mind before.

“Hey Face!”

He turned to see who was calling. Perry’s wife Erin was leaning in the doorway from the patio. “Come on hotshot! Let’s see some of this talent with firearms I’ve heard so much about.”

Face opened his mouth to say something about this not being the right place when Erin spoke again, “We’re taking wagers. My money is on Carol. She’s got a nine-year-old boy.”

With a furrowed brow he tried to make sense of what she was saying, that is until Jerry’s wife, Carol, was at the doorway, pumping a Super Soaker.

“You’re on!”

 

*******

 

The following morning Hannibal made his way to the kitchen with two Tylenol caplets in hand, perplexed by the lack of additional bodies and general mess that always remained after one of the Colonel’s famous cookouts. Face was in the kitchen, wearing his morning standard, sleep pants and mismatched T-shirt. There was a frying pan on the stove and a carton of eggs on the counter. The microwave was humming along with the scent of bacon wafting through the room. He waited a moment before making his presence known to take in the barefoot young man busying himself opening drawers and cabinets, retrieving dishes and flatware. Hannibal thought he would miss having the kid around.

When he turned and his eyes fell on the Colonel a wide, unguarded smile slid into place. “Hey. Good morning Boss.”

“You’re busy.”

Taking the empty coffee mug on the counter Face filled it while saying, “Sit down. I’m making breakfast.”

Hannibal could follow an order as well as the next guy and found the cup of coffee and newspaper landed on the table before he could sit and deposit the pain relievers on the placemat.

“Headache?” He was lighting the burner under the frypan before opening the carton to begin breaking eggs into a bowl.

“Yes. What about you? You look unscathed.”

Not looking up from his egg beating task, he smile a bit saying, “You know, by the time I got everything cleaned up last night I was sober.”

“Anyone else here?”

“Naw. Once they saw I was picking things up in earnest everyone made for the door.”

“What time was that?”

“Not long after you went up to bed. I was in bed before midnight.”

“That was nice of you to let Carol win the shooting match.”

“Let? She won fair and square. Someone should recruit that woman.”

Despite the dull throb above his left eyebrow, Hannibal had to laugh. He swallowed his Tylenol with coffee and skimmed the front page of the paper while Face cooked then served up a greasy breakfast. Just the thing for a Sunday morning hangover.

Face ate quietly not bothering the boss as he read the paper, though couldn’t help sneaking the occasional peak at his table mate. This felt so right. He couldn’t say how many times he’d prepared this meal for George, but more often than not under some duress. The coffee hadn’t been made right. Still had a scar from the burn to the back of his leg where a cupful was thrown at him. The eggs were too soft, too hard, cold and didn’t that just mean he’d be wiping them off the walls after he ducked from the plate hurled his way. Or the times he nursed bruises to his face, and tears elsewhere, but was still expected to wait on the man who continually reminded him just how much he was loved. Each incident rolled into the murky haze of the one before.

Hannibal was talking.

“Hmm?”

“I said why don’t you go relax. I’ll clean up.”

“No. I’ll take care of it.” Face was on his feet taking his own and reaching for Hannibal’s plate. A large hand covered his before he could lift it away.

“Really. I want to. Need to move around a little. Help clear the head fog.”

He knew right there this was something new to the kid. Something previously missing, equality, basic good manners. Face’s smile just about broke Hannibal’s heart. He thought how wonderful it would be for this to stretch on through the years. “Go on. I’ll take care of it.”

Showered and dressed Face sat on the single step leading to the tidy lawn of the backyard. His sniper’s eye catching a beer cup poking out from behind the trunk of the oak tree and two cigarette butts strewn in the grass. He would pick them up in a moment, when the relived sensation of Hannibal’s hand warming his own as it was briefly covered by the mighty paw faded back into memory.

Face had been falling for the older officer from the moment he’d been turned down for a fast and easy fuck. Or was it more around that first afternoon enjoying a beer in the garden of Rainbow’s, a bar with a big heart for the local servicemen and women when Hannibal had held the door for him? Or maybe that night he sent George packing. Whenever it began, his desire for the man was steadily growing, and yet he couldn’t imagine his feelings being reciprocated. What would the man want with a whore like himself? Yet Face was willing to try and change that image. He thought he could do it too, if given the chance.

He could easily see himself being caught up in the lightness of new love. To be surrounded and engulfed in the security of belonging to someone who wanted the best for him and was proud to be in his presence, not someone who took what he wanted and controlled him with pain. The effort he put in schooling Bill, not to mention soaking in as much as Bill had to teach him had been an offering of sorts. He knew it pleased the man, it was somehow a backward way of giving back to the Colonel.

Hannibal had never made a single untoward move on him. Had always treated him with respect, kindness and appreciation. So much so Face had wondered if he had read the man wrong after all. Yet he wasn’t mistaken when he had caught the more than occasional tail end of a glance or, like in the morning, when he saw in the reflection of the toaster how Hannibal had stood silently in the doorway, watching as Face readied for breakfast.

Mid afternoon and the two sat drinking iced tea in the spring coolness now the oak cast its shadow across the heated brick of the patio. The plans had been set in motion and it was just about a done deal. Hannibal had more than once selfishly contemplated calling the whole thing off, keeping the kid with him. Keeping him close.

But no, Face should be allowed to go off on his own. Prove to the world and, more importantly, himself what he’s made of, instead of the world telling him what he’s not. Hannibal’s hopes for him being ready to fly on his own could only be tested one way. To know if he was to become the man he was absolutely capable of being, Hannibal would have to set him free.

While Hannibal and fifteen of the twenty men who he led in Peru went to Bangui, Central African Republic on a covert op behind US Marines’ protection and evacuation of nearly four hundred fifty people, Face would return to Peru to do something no one else could do as well as he, develop proficient marksmen. He would be under Colonel Paul Clarke who was heading up the US training of not only the revamped Peruvian military, but also police forces all under the umbrella of the US war on drugs.

The unit accompanying Hannibal would return from Africa before July, Face would remain in South America for a full year. Hannibal had to admit to himself it was going to take some time to adjust to Face no longer being close at hand, but it was time for him to move on. That son of a bitch Petersen had stunted Face’s progress and much as it was hard for Hannibal to let him go, it was time.

Well, he may as well have been the one to tell Face Santa Claus was being held without bail for shooting the Easter bunny. The hurt in those azure eyes nearly wrecked him.

Face’s confusion circled around the belief he had done well in Peru with the unit. He couldn’t put together why Hannibal was sending him away. Without thought at some point he wrapped himself in his own arms.

“Please don’t make me go,” the LT said, barely audible. “I can do whatever you want me to, what you need me to. If I did something wrong I’ll make up for it.”

“Face, you’re misunderstanding my intent here. This is all about you. This is about you advancing. You’re ready. You’re actually way overdue to take on a command of your own. I’m not going to continue to hold you back the way you had been.”

“You haven’t held me back. What makes you even think that?” There was a whiff of panic in Face’s voice that was unsettling to his Colonel. “So all this work I’ve done with Bill was so he could be your unit sniper? You never intended on putting us together?”

“No. No. Not at all. That wasn’t it at all. Look Face. Our next assignment won’t involve the precision reconnaissance the two of you have been working on. But you also have a talent that shouldn’t be wasted. This deployment is for a year. When that time is up, you’re more than likely going to want your own unit.

“Listen to me, Kid. Men your age and especially with your talents should be moving up the ranks not remaining stagnant out of a sense of loyalty.”

“You think I want to stay because of loyalty?” He spread trails through his hair with his fingers. He looked to Hannibal as though he were making a decision on the spot. Hannibal knew him better than he realized. “Boss. I need you to know...” he trailed off. Taking a deep breath for courage he began again. “I can’t imagine what it would be like without you in my life. I thought we could...” He paused, waiting for Hannibal’s reaction. Seemingly shellshocked was the effect he had achieved. “So, I guess if you don’t feel the same, but I kinda thought maybe you did, but if you don’t...”

 

*******

 

Easily one of the more difficult things he had ever done was dropping Face off at the airport that day in May and Face wasn’t making it any easier for him.

“It’s not too late. I don’t have to get on the plane.”

“You do, Face. All the arrangements have been made. You’re going to like Paul. He’s intelligent, funny as hell. And he’s fair. He’s going to appreciate having you there with him. I’ve known him for years. He’s a good man.” Turning his head to look out the windshield he added, “I trust him with you. He’ll take good care of you and I know you’re going to like and respect him.”

“No.” Hannibal was struck not knowing if Face was angry or panicking. Or maybe both.

“Face, it’s time for you to be on your own.”

“No.....We belong together.”

“No, Face. It’s time for you to move on.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Face, we’ve been over this. It’s for the best.”

Face’s expression turned to anger, “We’ve been over this. That’s what George used to say.”

“Face.”

“Yeah, it’s best for you. What is it, Hannibal? Don’t want someone else’s cast off? Am I too ... too damaged?” he spat. “Finally figure that out?”

“You know that’s not true.”

“You said you were here for me. You would always be here for me.” The air around him seemed to be thinning. He wasn’t getting enough oxygen. His chest hurt and his heart ached.

And there was Hannibal, a hand moved to firmly clasp around the back of his neck, steady and firm. He held the quaking thoughts still long enough for Face to unshuffle them, rearrange them back into order. All the while there was his Hannibal, whether alone or in a crowd showing him the waters could be stilled and brought down from relentless churning to mirror-finished calm.

“I am always going to be here for you, Temp. To always have your best interests in mind. It’s why I have to let you go.” The large hand had gone to Face’s shoulder. “I’ll always let you know where I am. If you ever need me you’ll be able to find me.”


	8. Chapter 8

“It’s good to see you, Kid. You look good.”

“What happened to Bill?”

“Sick.”

Face looked out at the familiar terrain as they exited the airport and merged onto I 85. _It’s going to be a long drive_ Face thought. _Close to two hours and Hannibal’s stuck with the guy he thought he was rid of._

“Thank you for coming. You didn’t have to. I could have taken the shuttle.”

“I wanted to come.”

 _Nice of you to say, but you don’t have to lie._ “Well, thanks. It’s a long drive, up here and back again.”

“I left early and got off the highway for a while. A little more scenic.”

“I can drive if you want.”

“No, I’m fine. You’re the one who’s been traveling. How long was your flight?”

“Ten and a half total. Couple of hours in Fort Lauderdale.”

“Fly out of Lima?”

“Yeah, Lima.”

And that was that for the next half hour. Neither spoke, though there were plenty of clandestine glances.

Face thought of his conversation with Bill a few days earlier. He had been staying with Hannibal and was surprised when Face told him he would live on base.

_“Why? Your room hasn’t been used since you left.”_

_“I’ve gotten used to being on base. Don’t have much of an option down here.”_

_“Your sheets and towels are in the dryer as we speak. If you change your mind...”_

He felt a little bad Bill had wasted his time.

“What’s wrong with Bill?”

“Cold. Sounds like he’s working on brewing a nice bout of bronchitis to go along with.”

The rest of the ride was an eternity as far as Face was concerned. What he thought was an easy rapport they shared had been shattered that afternoon, sitting on the back patio, iced tea forgotten. He came out of his rumination when Hannibal took the exit that would wind them to his home rather than the base.

“I’m going to the base.”

“Bill said you were, but he asked me to bring you by so he could see you. He’s missed you.”

“I’ve missed him.”

“I’ve missed you too.”

“You don’t have to say that.”

“Why? It’s true.” It was only a few minutes before Hannibal was swinging the wheel around, bringing them to a halt in the drive of the familiar Colonial home.

Face argued they didn’t need to bring his gear in the house. He wasn’t staying. Only stopping to say hello to his friend. Hannibal didn’t push it. He felt they were riding enough of a teeter totter.

“Face!” a voice croaked from behind him as he peered out the sliding doors to the backyard.

“Hey buddy! You look like shit!” Face was across the room in no time and had the Captain in a hug.

“And fuck you very much.” Bill’s laugh devolved into a coughing jag.

“Man. You’re burning up.” Face had a hand to the flushed cheek. “Have you been to a doctor?”

“It’s nothing.” Bill squirmed his way out of the hold. “It’ll pass.” But as he spoke the words he began to waver.

“Woah there.” Face hadn’t seen where Hannibal had come from. “Come on. Back to bed. Face get on the other side.”

“Stop fussing.” It was a dismally weak protest as was the follow up of, “I’m going to sit on the sofa for a bit. Face just got here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You belong in bed. We have plenty of time to catch up.”

Through a grinding yet unproductive cough Bill managed to get out, “Please just give me a hand to the couch.”

Face looked behind the dipped head of the man between them to Hannibal who gave him a faint nod. It was obvious to them both Bill was trying to mask his sudden weakness. Face didn’t doubt his friend wanted to be nearby, but he also didn’t buy that was the reason Bill didn’t want to climb the stairs. “Okay, bud. Just a few steps.”

The two men maneuvered him and held tight when the act of sitting played out more as a collapse.

“There. Comfortable?” the Colonel asked.

“Yeah. Man that last cough kinda did me in.”

Face sat beside him and reached again, this time to put the back of his hand to forehead reddened from exertion. ”If you’re planning on feeling my face, you can stop right there.” Face’s hand paused in mid air.

“Seriously Bill, you don’t look good.”

“It’s just a bad cold. It’s trying to move down to my chest. It’s noth...” was broken off by more coughing that seemed to be tearing him open but had no hint of congestion breaking up.

Face had to stop himself from gathering the man. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hannibal approaching.

“Open up. Under the tongue.”

“Really Hannibal. I’m...”

“Stop arguing with me,” Hannibal snapped out in his best drill sergeant voice.

Both men on the sofa jumped a little at the command. Face had to hand it to Hannibal, Bill’s mouth was open and ready as the digital airplane made its approach to the hanger. There was no retreat from the Colonel’s hand when he placed it on the heated forehead.

Hannibal sat on the coffee table to wait for the gizmo to sound. He noted Face had managed to capture Bill’s hand in his own and was circling his thumb about the back of Bill’s compliant fingers. The thermometer called out a series of beeps. “One-o-two. Not good, but not dangerous either.”

With Hannibal presumably returning the thermometer to its home, Bill asked, “Didn’t I once tell you he’s a mother hen?”

“You did.”

“He’s been so excited about you coming back.”

“I kinda doubt that.”

“Stop being so stubborn.”

“What? I’m not stubborn.”

“Like hell you aren’t.”

“I don’t know what to say to him.”

“Why don’t you start with thank you?”

Something was suddenly and unequivocally fascinating in the LT’s hand as it rested in his lap and kept him from meeting Bill’s eyes.

“Here. Tylenol and juice.” Hannibal had returned.

“Thanks, Colonel.”

“What can I get for you, Face?”

“Nothing. I’m good.”

“If you change your mind, you know where everything is.”

The three sat in silence for an interminable minute and a half.

“So,” Bill started, “You were quite the superstar down in Peru.”

“Where’d you hear that?” Face laughed.

“Oh, I don’t know. Some little article I read in Army Times.” Bill’s laugh was immediately swallowed in a cough.

“Whose idea was that article anyway?” Face was shaking his head.

“Paul’s,” Hannibal remarked into his glass.

“Paul Clarke?” Face thought it rather incredulous his CO in Peru would orchestrate the flattering magazine article highlighting the star arms instructor.

“Does that surprise you?”

“He never said anything about it.” Face was honestly perplexed.

“Where do you think they got all the information about you?”

“I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“Have you thought about what you’d like to do next?”

“Some.” Face didn’t elaborate, but when he looked up both men were staring at him intently.

“You coming back to us? I’ve been working my ass off to be worthy of being your spotter. Tell him Colonel.”

“It’s true,” Hannibal confirmed.

“The MU sent word they wanted to talk to me when I get back,” Face said referring to the US Army Marksmanship Unit.

“Are you considering them?” Hannibal asked, not giving away his displeasure with this turn.

“I don’t know. I’ll have to talk to them.”

“Just keep in mind I’ve been waiting for you,” Bill said through a yawn.

“Are you trying to guilt me into something?”

“Only making my own wishes known.” Bill broke into another round of coughing.

Face saw his friend’s glass was empty. Taking it to the kitchen he noted three steaks on a platter in the refrigerator beside the juice carton. Returning with the filled glass he found Bill asleep and Hannibal rising, pointing Face in the direction of the patio.

Instead of accepting the Colonel’s invite he put the glass in front of Bill on the coffee table and whispered, “I should go.”

“We were hoping you’d stay for dinner.”

“Really should get to base. Find out where I’m staying.”

“You’re welcome to stay here.”

“No. I need to go.”

“Okay. I’ll drive you over.”

“I’ll call a cab.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not a problem to drive you.”

“You should stay with Bill.” Face was fishing his cellphone from an oversized jacket pocket. Realizing his cellular plan was still one originating in Peru he asked, “Mind if I use your phone?”

 

******

 

Face stepped into the Georgia sunshine after a tedious phone switch and programming at the local Nextel office. It was the afternoon of his second full day back. Playing with the phone he decided his first call should be to Bill, see how he was feeling. After the third ring he momentarily thought he’d misdialed.

“Captain Stewart’s phone,” came the familiar voice.

“Hannibal?”

“Yes. Who’s calling,” came a sharp reply.

“It’s Face. I was calling to check on Bill.”

“Oh! Glad you called, kid. Wasn’t looking forward to trying to track you down.”

“What’s going on? Where’s Bill?”

“We’re at Martin. Well he’s at Martin. I’m on my way back after picking some things up for him.”

“Wait. Wait. Why’s he in the hospital?”

“That cough was the start of pneumonia. I took him in early this morning. They’re keeping him for a couple days.”

“I’ll get over there as soon as I can. What room?”

“Didn’t have one when I left. Where are you, kid? I’ll come get you.”

“No.” It came out sharper than intended. Hannibal seemed to have that effect on him since his return to Benning. “I mean go ahead without me. I’ll get myself there.”

 

“Face,” Bill called quietly, lifting a weak hand.

“I’m right here, buddy. Can I do anything for you?” the LT said taking the stricken man’s hand.

“Closer...closer,” Bill implored.

“Tell me. What do you need?” Face brushed his hand over Bill’s forehead.

“Tell those assholes over at MU to go fuck themselves.” He tried, but the Captain couldn’t keep a straight face, immediately sorry when his laugh broke into a cough.

Face threw the hand that now had a surprisingly firm grip down. “You ass.”

“Sorry buddy. But damn, you looked so...concerned.”

“I _was_ concerned! What? You two concoct this whole thing? You even have pneumonia?”

“You think we got the hospital to admit me to prank you?”

Face shot a look at Hannibal leaning on the windowsill. He threw both hands up, palms out. “I haven’t got that kind of pull.”

Turning back to the man in bed he noted without thought he had taken Bill’s hand back in his own. “How long you in for?”

“Two, maybe three days. Need to stay hooked up to the oxygen. I have to do this breathing therapy. Blow into this contraption.” He waggled a plastic apparatus that looked suspiciously to Face like a bong. “They were going to give me Albuertal, but Hannibal remembered I had a bad reaction to that a few years ago.” He looked toward his Colonel and smiled.

Face refused to follow the glance.

“Wait until you see some of the nurses in this place. Some real beauties. Or if you prefer, there was this one X-ray tech. Think his name was Joel.”

“Shut up,” but Face was smiling.

“Just pointing out the options.”

An hour later and Face was saying goodbye. “Don’t give them a hard time, okay? Need you up and around.”

“Okay, Dad.”

“Seriously? Dad?”

“Well if Hannibal’s the mother hen, what’s that leave you?”

“Very funny.” He squeezed the Captain’s shoulder. “Gotta go.”

“Sneaking out before the Colonel gets back?”

Face neither confirmed nor denied.

 

Standing outside the hospital entrance it occurred to him he hadn’t memorized the number for the cab service. “Shit.”

“Need a ride?”

sigh.... “No. I’ll call a cab.”

“I’d like to talk to you.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Hear me out, Face.”

“I said I don’t want to talk...” Face caught himself, realizing how his voice had crept up in decibels when he became aware of the shadow of someone approaching.

Hannibal reached for the glass door, “Ma’am.”

Her eyes moved from one man to the other. Without a word she nodded at each, demure smile in place.

As soon as she was through the door Hannibal released it and made a beeline to and past where the LT had been standing. Had been because Hannibal grabbed him by the upper arm and manhandled him to the parking lot.

“What is your problem?” Face asked, put out as hell.

“My problem?! What’s your problem?! Huh, Face? From the moment I picked you up at the airport you’ve treated me like a red-haired stepchild. I’m getting a little tired of it.”

“You can remedy that by leaving me alone.”

“I would if I hadn’t promised Bill I’d at least try.”

“There it is. Right there.”

“There’s what?! What are you talking about?”

“You’re doing this because of Bill.”

“You got a problem with making Bill happy?”

“No! And you know that’s not what I meant. Are you that arrogant, Hannibal?”

“Arrogant?! You thankless little shit!”

“And there’s the rest of it! I _did_ thank you! Over and over. Every way I knew how. But it wasn’t enough, was it?! Here! I’ll do it again! Thank you, Hannibal! Thank you for getting me away from Petersen!”

“Petersen?! What’s that prick got to do with this?”

“You got me out of there. Then I guess I didn’t fall over you to thank you enough. I only fell all over myself to try to repay you. But it wasn’t enough, was it?” Tears threatened to cloud his vision. Turning his head away he blinked and blinked in an effort to force them away. All it did in the end was cause them to breach, spiking his lashes as they made their descent.

“Look, I have no idea where that came from, but it’s nothing to do with what I want to talk about and let’s make one thing very clear. You don’t have to thank or repay me for that. Understand?”

There was no reply. Face’s lips were tight and he couldn’t control the vibration in his jaw.

“I have an idea for a new kind of team. My plan includes you.”

“You know Hannibal? Lick it, stamp it and send it to someone who cares.”

“I thought I did.”

“So you send me away and now I’m supposed to be grateful you want me back?”

“I did what I thought was right for you.” 

“What was best for you, you mean. Why does everyone like to tell me what’s best for me?”

“Because like it or not that’s my job! Do what’s best for my men! Look at yourself Face! Look at how much you’ve changed in only a year. Never mind physically, look at your presence. Look at your posture! Look at you standing your ground!” Then quieter, “Just look at you, Kid. I’m so proud of you.”

The tears were back. “Everything came crashing down when you got rid of me.”

“I didn’t get rid of you, Face.”

“Didn’t you?”

“It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.”

Face hadn’t been wound this tight since he set foot on the plane going back to Peru. There was a valve ready to blow somewhere within his chest and he wanted to escape. More than wanted, he needed to run.

Of course Hannibal saw it. No doubt saw it before Face himself felt the urge. Reaching out he gently encircled Face’s wrist. It all became clear. Hannibal wasn’t lying, not even exaggerating.

A warm breeze passed over the LT and he knew he had lost. Funny thing was he wasn’t sure exactly what had been at stake. No matter how hard he pushed it down, he could never be rid of the true need he’d fostered. The need that made him excel at his last post by trying to drown it in hard work.

Now here he stood, Hannibal’s warmth seeping into him via a singular touch of his hand. He kept himself from choking a sob as the need was lifted. Hannibal wanted him back and the realization that Bill had been right all along brought the sting of tears to his eyes. He’d been a pouting child and too stubborn to let go. It was humbling to acknowledge the only thing he had actually lost in this battle of wills was his anger.


	9. Chapter 9

“I was hoping to do this a little sooner, but with Bill sick and all...” Hannibal had an arm over Face’s shoulder.

“You’re not apologizing, are you?” Face leaned away, getting a full view of Hannibal’s features. “If you are, you can stop right there, Boss.” He waved with the beer bottle in his hand, encompassing the thirty or so people spread out across the yard. “No one’s ever done this for me.”

Some of the assortment of army men and women formed into standing clusters, others sitting here and there on lawn chairs or in the grass. There were wives, girlfriends, boyfriends and one husband. They had brought chips, dips and a variety of salads now all spread across a long, folding banquet table also dotted with trays of cookies and assorted vessels containing more sweets. Capt. Jeff Bowman, an Engineering Specialist had raided Hannibal’s garage and kitchen for items to make an impromptu tee-ball diamond for the little ones involving a golfball retriever, an aluminum foil ball, and tightly wound and taped newspaper baseball bats.

Inside were more guests conversing in the living room and leaning on kitchen counters. The basement with its exercise equipment, TV and Xbox was the traditional haven for the teenagers dragged along by parents who insisted they would have fun.

“You ready for the burgers?” Face asked assessing the ash cover on the coals.

“I’ll get them. You’re suppose to be enjoying yourself.”

“I am enjoying myself. Will even more so once I have a burger or two in me,” the party boy said as he walked backward under the banner proclaiming “Welcome Home.”

Acknowledging good wishes as he passed through a group blocking the way to the kitchen, he still couldn’t wrap his head around how many people he had accumulated in the past couple of years in acquaintances and a few true friends.

Soldiers typically didn’t throw homecoming events for each other. Shipping in and out of a home base was an everyday occurrence in the service. However, Hannibal was well known for throwing the random party, often coming up with a less than ground breaking excuse for doing so. This one was a little different. The ultra-flattering story about Face complete with GQ cover photo had propelled him into a military version of a rock star.

There were those whom he knew in passing, some he didn’t know at all, but had found a foot in the door of a rather exclusive circle, though most present were sincerely proud of his work in Peru and were glad to see him back. And friend or not, it was hard to turn down a chance to get off base for a few free beers and a burger.

Stepping sideways between party-goers Face made it into the kitchen only to be confronted with three people on the floor wiping up what looked and smelled like a beer.

“Woah! Is that beer?”

“Yeah Face. Sorry. I was handing it over and the bottle just slid outta my hand.”

“I’m not worried about that. You shouldn’t be kneeling where there was broken glass.”

Wringing a towel under running water, a woman at the sink said, “Bottle didn’t break. It landed and sprayed beer everywhere.” Then to the group on the floor, “Here are a couple of rinsed ones. Trade me for a couple of those.” The exchange was made and the beer laden cloths slapped into the sink. “We’ll get it cleaned up in no...” Her words were cut off when she turned her head and for the first time saw the tall, muscular man with extraordinary blue eyes to whom she’d been speaking. “Oh. You must be Face.”

“Yeah, that’s me.” He was taken aback momentarily as well by the beauty before him. She had a wide open smile that reached to lovely hazel eyes.

She dropped the towel and flipped on the faucet, running hands with long, graceful fingers under the stream of water. Distracted by the cheekbones becoming a Studio 54 supermodel, it took a second or three for Face to catch back up.

She had wiped her hands on her jeans and extended one in his direction. “Pleased to meet you, Face. I’m Charissa.”

“Pleasure’s mine,” he said, winning smile in place as he took her hand.

“Hands off, Faceman. That’s my date you’re putting the moves on. No fair stealin’ a man’s date right out from under him,” came a voice from the floor.

Palms held up in a surrender, Face laughed. “Wouldn’t dream of it, buddy. Just came in to get the burgers from the fridge. Would you reach in and grab them for me?”

With the two platters of hamburger patties in hand he nodded to Charissa. “Nice meeting you. Be sure to come outside for burgers.”

“Oh, I will.”

She was just the kind of woman Face would gravitates to. One with an air of confidence to her, not to mention a beauty. He may have kept track of her and Dave, following if they were a serious item and if so any rumblings of a breakup. But not that day.

He had other plans.

 

“I understand you were very successful in the weapons training for the Peruvian army.” Charissa and Dave had joined Face and Hannibal along the buffet line.

“Yes. They were great,” Face responded with a smile as he shook a bottle of ketchup over his burger. “There were several small groups who I was training to be trainers themselves. We had some law enforcement too.

“Are you military, Charissa?” Hannibal asked curious about Dave’s date.

“Yes I am,” she answered without elaboration. “So Face, tell me abou...”

“And you do what?” Hannibal pressed.

“Specialist. MOS46Q.” Hannibal may have been the only one to note the “are you satisfied” look in those green eyes.

“A journalist. Are you going for a second interview here?”

Face shot a subtle questioning look Hannibal’s way. Hannibal just as subtly threw back his own challenge to try and stop him.

Dave couldn’t swallow his last gulp of beer fast enough to add, “She’s being modest. She’s just finished her degree and will be commissioned soon.”

“Congratulations!” Bill and his date joined them, handing Hannibal a cigar. “How long have you been at Benning?”

“Awhile.” She shifted slightly in her stance, turning a shoulder to the Captain.

Bill’s attention was back on his companion Julie, not seeming to note the barely there snub.

Hannibal saw it. He also saw the well-timed arrival of Russ Morrison.

Charissa began again, “Anyhow. Face I’d...”

Hannibal cut in without apology, “Russ is here, gentleman. Shall we say hello?”

Face said a fast, “Nice talking to you,” hurrying after his Colonel.

She watched with cool eyes as the four made their way to the patio. Dave was smiling with a light beer buzz and reached for the lady’s hand. The lady slapped his away.

 

“Mind if I sneak on out now? This isn’t exactly the entertainment I was planning for the rest of the evening.” Bill’s eyes floated over Face’s shoulder to Julie who had been a good sport in helping with a bit of washing up.

Face held a trash bag as he moved around the living and dining rooms picking up remains from the party. “No. Go. I got the rest of this.”

“You’re not supposed to be doing this. It was your party.”

“Oh, please. You know as well as I do that was just an excuse the boss gave for throwing a barbecue.”

“I’ve learned to play along,” Bill said in a hushed voice. This brought a guffaw from the LT, feeling every bit of his last beer. “Hey Julie. Just going to say goodnight to Hannibal.”

“I’ll come with.” The pretty redhead joined him, but not before tossing to Face, “Thank you for having me. This was fun. And welcome home!”

“Thank you, Julie. Thank you for coming.”

It was a few minutes before the boss stepped through the doorway, sliding the door into place, flicking both the lock and switch to shut off the outdoor lights. “Julie’s nice. Maybe we’ll see her again.”

“Yeah, I liked her too. They go out through the gate?”

“Hmm? Yes. They’re gone. Hey, zuh kitchen’s clean,” surprise evident in Hannibal’s slightly inebriated voice.

“Julie did that. Gathered everything washable and went to work at the sink.”

Hannibal was leaning on the doorframe, his bag of recycling items discarded. “Did I hear hear the vacuum?”

“Yeah, that was Bill.”

“Bill vacuumed?” Hannibal huffed a quiet laugh. “You’re rubbing off on him.”

Face smiled in response while doing a final perusal. “Where’s your bag? I’ll take these out.”

Hannibal motioned his head behind, “By the garage door.” He took in the scent of his LT as he brushed by on the way to the garage. When Face returned Hannibal didn’t look up from what he was doing at the counter.

“Whatcha got there boss?”

Hannibal turned, leaning forward a little, though wavering he effectively blocked Face’s view.

“Boss?”

Stepping aside, he revealed what he’d been up to. A small cake sat on the counter with a large triangle cut from it and in his hands were two slices on plates. “Get us a couple of forks.”

“Is that flourless chocolate cake? Oh man, that’s my favorite.”

“I know. Welcome home, Temp.”

Face could feel an out of the blue flush along his neck, creeping to his cheeks at the sound of his given name. Hannibal had already turned, taking the plates to the sofa. He set them on the coffee table and dropped down to take a seat. Face was beside him in a moment handing over a fork.

“Where’d you have this hidden?”

“Not telling,” was mumbled out around a mouthful of decadent cocoa goo. “Didn’t want to bring it out earlier. Thought it might be gone before you could get a piece.”

“Thanks boss. You didn’t have to do this.”

“Not much fun only getting things you have to have.”

Face looked up from his plate to a smiling Hannibal scraping the last bits of ganache with the edge of his fork.

“You can lick it if you want. I won’t tell anyone.”

“You wouldn’t either, would you?” Hannibal said leaning forward to place the empty plate on the table. “You’re good at keeping confidences.”

Face’s plate was set alongside the other. “You know better than anyone I have a lot of my own.”

With a warm smile Hannibal sat back, twisting at the waist. “That you do, Kid.”

Face looked away, but could feel the grey-blue eyes on him. He began speaking before thinking it through, “You know, Hannibal, I didn’t only want you that night to get on your team.” Warmth once again flushed through him as he felt the back of Hannibal’s fingers caress just behind his ear.

“I know,” Hannibal said softly. When Face turned to look his way he was jarred, as though woken from a dream. He was unnerved to see he had touched Face in a most inappropriate manner. Pulling his hand back embarrassed he stumbled over his words, “I’m sorry Face. I shouldn’t have...”

“I don’t mind.”

“Well you should. That was totally out of line. I’m sorry.” He made to stand, but Face had taken him by the wrist.

“Wait. Really. I don’t mind. I’ve wanted this.”

Hannibal took in a breath, feeling shaken. “We can’t do this Face. It’s...it’s not right.”

Face had slipped into charm mode without a conscious effort. “No. You’re wrong. This...,” waving a hand between them, “...is very right.”

Freeing his hand from the young man’s hold Hannibal was kicking himself. All that came from his mouth was a low tone, “No.”

“Come on, Boss. Think I didn’t see how you got all possessive around that Specialist? Let’s finish the night right.” He reached to cup his hand to that wide shoulder.

“No. No Face. I’m sorry. I never should have... I’m your superior. I’m your CO. I’d be taking advantage and...”

“No.” Was that a bit of whimper he heard in his own voice?

“Yes.” Hannibal had his wits back about him. “I would be putting you back into a no-win situation. I can’t do that to you. I’m sorry. I had no business behaving that way. I was being stupid and thoughtless. I’m your CO Face. One night together could blow everything up and we just got back on even... This can’t happen.”

“I was thinking of more than just one night.”

“Aw Face. It wouldn’t work. You need... I’m not what you need.”

“You mean I’m not what you need?”

“Maybe some of that too.”

“I can be what you want, at least try.”

“I think things are getting mixed up between us again Face. I’d put expectations on you you wouldn’t want to live up to.”

“You think so, huh?”

“I know so.”

“You don’t think I can decide for myself?”

“We’re not going down that hole again. Look. I’ve never dated anyone younger. I’ve always been the young one. I wouldn’t know how to handle that.”

“But you’re the boss, Boss.”

“That’s different. I wouldn’t want to lord over you at work and at home.”

“Then don’t. Just be you.” Scooting around on the sofa to put them face to face he continued, “You know it would be new for both of us. You’ve never dated anyone younger. I’ve never dated anyone who’s been nice to me.”

Hannibal could think of absolutely nothing in reply that wouldn’t betray his heartbreaking acceptance no truer words have been said. His hand slipped around the back of Face’s neck, drawing him forward. But instead of lighting on those lips with his own, he kissed Face’s forehead. “I’m going to bed.” Releasing his hand he stood adding, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Face sat staring at the seat cushion Hannibal had just occupied, the need within him tightening, this need for Hannibal. Over these few short years it had morphed into something out of Face’s control. It wasn’t the opportunity for escape as when it had all begun. It wasn’t a desire to please in order to hear the words, “Good job” or “Well done, kid.” It wasn’t a lust. It was, however, becoming clear it was only wishful thinking.

Hannibal sat along the edge of his bed. He had taken the framed photo from the nightstand drawer. Wordlessly he asked the subject what he should do, how to cope with these newly waking desires. He thought of the day the picture had been taken on his old Instamatic.

They had gone to the beach with a sack of beef sandwiches and potato chips in a backpack kept cool by a frozen cold pack and a six-pack of beer. Ever the optimist, Andy had brought more food than they could hope to finish. In their windbreakers with jeans rolled at the cuff they braved the cold dampness of the sound. Andy had coaxed a lone seagull to take the bit of sandwich from his hand on the fly. John had snapped the moment of contact, but that wasn’t the photo he was looking on. This one was taken shortly after. Taken however long it took him to wind the film one frame in the little Kodak. Taken as Andy turned to him, hair blown across his face by the wind coming off the Pacific in gusts that blew his jacket toward the dunes. But for all the turbulence there was Andy smiling in delight, looking to John and his camera, the happiness in his eyes conveying, “Did you see that?!”

An unattended trickle left his eye, as the memory faded out.

His bedroom door had been left ajar. So engaged in the photo he didn’t see the shadow pause before moving on to the next room across the hall. Hearing the latch snap home in the hallway he tucked the photo away before stepping to the bath to brush his teeth for the night. He turned off the light and undressed in the dark before climbing into his bed alone.

 

******

 

Hannibal’s command was dwindling and he couldn’t be happier. He was down to less than a half a dozen men, each with their own specialty but also with fingers extending into other areas. The concept he envisioned meant each team member was more than a single cog in the works of the whole. No man was singularly unto himself.

When explaining their new roles, the new way of acting as a unit he noted to the four men he’d chosen, “One should spread themselves across a wide path.”

Leave it to Bill to ask, “You mean like influenza?”

 

Bill was still his boom-boy and XO extraordinaire. With Hannibal himself also well versed in explosives, the two made a particularly deadly pair when it came to Bic lighters and old model train transformers. But it didn’t stop there. Bill was responsible for the education of the rest of the team in the area. They were to learn the handling of, and if need be, the setting of explosives beyond their Ranger demolition training.

Crossovers abounded in this new order. While Bill and Face had settled into their roles of spotter and sniper respectively, switching positions would never be an issue for the two. Just as Bill was responsible for explosives training within their mini unit, it was up to Face to be sure each man be an above average shot. Face had also been ordered to renew his foreign language certifications and was charged with ensuring he retested each year. Likewise Communications Specialist Jimmy Talon, who spoke three languages himself, was also an MSC along with Tom Hernandez, who had an engineering degree.

All five were proficient in climbing and descent as well as certified divers. The unit worked most efficiently fully manned with the five members but weren’t out of commission when down to four or even three. There was a time when a bug spread amongst the group leaving only Hannibal and Bill standing which limited their scope, but not their effectiveness.

The Colonel and Captain had been together long enough the Colonel seldom completed explanations fully before his right hand man was finishing for him. Face sometimes found it a bit spooky how the two seemed to perpetually exist on the same plane of thought.

“How do you know when it’s time to feed him another cigar?”

Bill’s expression at the question was one of utter confusion. “I don’t know. I never thought about it.”

The Captain and Lieutenant had settled nicely into a synergistic relationship that fanned beyond their sniper/scout duties. Face had come into his own as a charmer and expanded the effects beyond seduction and was making inventive supply acquisitions look like child’s play. He was relishing the role. Regardless how his personal relationship was panning out with the Colonel, he knew he had made the right decision in turning down the offer from MU.

Leaving more of the procurement duties to Face allowed Bill to pick up and carry some of the weight on Hannibal’s shoulders. This worked out well for Hannibal of course. It did, however, sometimes have the others questioning if it was such a good idea to give the Colonel more time to think up one crazy idea after another. Some were outrageous enough they just plain didn’t work. Hannibal never took one of these occurrences as a defeat. No, it became a new challenge and the team thanked their lucky stars for Bill and his ability to rein in the ever energetic leader of the band.

When dealing with Hannibal in the field his Lieutenant could best be described as on the mark. Even as the youngest member of this unit Face showed the maturity of his older and superior ranking teammates. The CO of this outfit was becoming more and more aware of just how well Face not only performed when given orders, but was also developing the anticipatory skills that Jamal Osgood left the team lacking when he made the decision to move out of combat and take an IT roll at Walter Reed in D.C.

Back home Face did his best to keep himself distant. He lived on base and kept himself occupied training and reading. He’d become more social outside his unit and didn’t automatically attend all the cookouts that took place in the simple and neat backyard some fifteen miles away. Tending to only showing up when his presence was specifically requested.

 

“Ah ah. None of that now. Remember, we were talking about you.”

“My life’s boring. There’s not a lot to say about wholesale furniture buying for a retailer.”

“Seriously?” Face asked pressing a hand on the trunk of the tree she was leaning against, not far above her head. “I wouldn’t know where to begin with something like that. In fashion you have all the designers showing their lines at fashion week in New York and Paris and Milan. How would you know where to start with sofas and chairs?”

“We actually have our own version of fashion week. It’s High Point Market in High Point, North Carolina.”

“North Carolina seems like an odd choice for something like that.”

“Not at all. There’s a concentration of furniture manufacturers in the area...”

 

Bill was watching Hannibal watching Face. He wandered over to the grill and its master. “She’s pretty.”

“Hmm? Who?”

“The blonde being hovered over by the our LT.”

What could he say? Bill nail squarely on the head, or more accurately on the thumb. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to me.”

The understanding hand that landed between the Colonel’s shoulders was accompanied by a knowing smile. He knew something had transpired between the two men, but wasn’t about to pry. Guiding with pressure from his fingers, Bill redirected him back to the grill asking, “How long for burgers?”

 

Face had a way of stoking conversation with just about anyone about anything. He was adept at asking open-ended questions to keep the other person talking. He seldom gave away much about himself other than the haircut was because he’s in the army, you know, nothing exciting, tell me more about yourself. One thing he’d found was women were more tight-lipped then men. Harder nuts to crack. While in the end they would come around equally, men it seemed were much happier to speak unfettered about themselves. Though, to be honest, Face wasn’t proving that point much lately.

Since the night Hannibal again turned him down he wasn’t finding much of an attraction to the same sex as he once had. There had been the weekend spent in Savanna with the tall older gentleman with the wildly sexy graying hair. But in the end it was a wholly unsatisfying venture. The dinners were indelible. The sex, not so much.

He now satisfied his libido with a variety of women, living up to the reputation he’d falsified as a front to cover for his involvement with George. This particular lovely had magically fallen in his lap. Quite literally fell in his lap at an Atlanta club the previous weekend.

He had been sitting in a booth with a handful of fellow servicemen when a commotion broke out on the dance floor beside them. There was some yelling and cursing and shoving and it was becoming decidedly obnoxious when Face and Brien agreed they would go give the bouncers a hand. Before Face could stand, a chain reaction culminated in Diane Williams being blindsided and pushed hard enough she landed squarely on Face whose reflexes were fast enough to shield her from a cocktail glass hurtling through the air, bouncing off his shoulder rather than crashing into her head.

He had invited her to the cookout when he called her midweek. She balked thinking a BBQ with a bunch of soldiers would be as rambunctious as the nightclub had been, making an excuse for having to be home early but could attend for the afternoon. After arriving and seeing the family atmosphere she was sorry she had put a restriction on her time.

Face had sensed a distrust in her voice when he had called but was pleased when she agreed with the caveat of needing to leave no later than four-thirty. He hadn’t believed she had somewhere else to be, but went along thinking he would probably want an excuse to leave early himself.

She had noted almost as soon as they staked their claim to the big oak tree she was surprised by the variety of people and abundance of children present. He teased her about fictitious male and female strippers scheduled for the evening that she would sadly have to miss. She laughed and played along with the joke. That was the first time he looked up to see Hannibal studying him from across the yard. Something urged him to take a step forward, crowd into Diane who made no complaints. So what if it was a little passive aggressive, maybe even a little childish. But who cares? Hannibal thinks of him as a kid anyhow he told himself.

It seemed each time he stole a look Hannibal’s way, Hannibal was doing the same. Only difference was Face’s smile was getting bigger as the afternoon went on in Diane’s company, while Hannibal’s scowl became deeper. After what turned out to be a really funny story about trying out recliners at a manufacturer, Face threw his head back laughing. As he came back to himself a quick glance toward Hannibal was blocked by one Captain Stewart.

“Hey Bill.”

“And who do we have here?”

“Diane, this is Bill. Bill, Diane.”

While Diane presented her hand for a firm businesslike handshake, Bill captured it as though it were a fragile china cup. “Enchanté.”

“My. You speak French.”

“No. But he does,” Bill said with a laugh while flipping a thumb at Face. “Said hi to the Colonel yet?”

“No, we were...” He smiled at Diane. “We were having such a nice time talking we haven’t gotten over there yet.”

Diane smiled back. She had to agree they were having a great time.

“Hi Face! Haven’t seen you lately.”

“Hi Dave. Yeah I think the last time was here. You were with, what was she? A Specialist? How’s it going?”

“Took her home and haven’t seen her since.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Naw, it’s alright.”

“Diane, this is Dave. Dave, Diane.”

Dave took her hand and went a step further by kissing it before murmuring, “Enchanté.”

“Do _you_ speak French?”

“No.” She finished with him, “But he does.”

“I’m starting to catch on,” she said with a laugh.

Face had the decency to look embarrassed. “I’ve created monsters. I may need to beat them later.”

“Hey, speaking of beatings. Did you hear about Petersen? You worked for him, didn’t you?”

“Lt. Colonel Petersen?”

“Yeah. Him.”

“I did, but last I heard he was transferred to Fort Reily in Kansas.”

“Seems a Lieutenant beat the shit out of him. Damn near killed him.”

Face didn’t respond. He could physically feel the disparate emotions as they roiled throughout his gut and chest. Wrapping his arms around himself he struggled but won out, putting on an air of vague curiosity, bordering on disinterest. “No. Hadn’t heard about that.”

“The LT’s being held at Leavenworth until Petersen’s out of the hospital. Charged with attempted murder.”

Bill watched Face’s reaction and like everyone else on the team felt a protective streak toward him. “Hey Dave, remember Carl Richards?”

“Sure do. Miss having him around. Where’d they ship him off to?”

“Rock Island Armory, but he’s here. Him and his wife. They’re in town for some friend’s wedding. Come on they’re in the kitchen.” He gave Face a quick glance as they started for the house. Could see an all over tension about him.

The alarm on Face’s watch let him know it was time to go. “Time for Cinderella to leave the ball. Got both shoes?”

“Face, I don’t really have to...”

“This was fun,” he interrupted, smiling. “Let’s do it again when we don’t both have other plans.”

“Oh, you have plans too,” she said wistful and disappointed.

 

Bill was back with Hannibal who was alone at the far end of the yard. “Did something happen? Face was holding himself like something was wrong.”

“Yeah something happened. Someone tried to kill George Petersen.”

Hannibal knew the mixed emotions Face felt for the man. George had so badly damaged Face’s psyche in the relationship he still carried love/hate feelings toward the man. Hannibal wanted to go to Face, be with him, lend him support. But that wasn’t going to happen. He had no idea where the kid and young woman had gone leaving the party almost immediately. Besides, he told himself, he still had guests at the house.

It was an hour later and as usual, the majority of people had begun to leave starting with parents of overtired and fitful children. A cleanup crew had been organized by his XO and Hannibal was pretending to relax with a beer when the house phone rang.

“Hello.”

“Hannibal it’s me.”

“Where are you, Temp?”

“I’m at the Americana Bar. Hannibal. Somebody tried to kill George.”

“I know. Bill told me.” He had made a beeline upstairs to his bedroom and was already digging a pair of jeans out of a drawer to replace the cargo shorts he wore. “How do you feel about that?”

“I don’t know. It’s... I don’t know.”

Hannibal was stepping into the jeans, phone wedged between shoulder and ear. “I’m on my way.”

“Thanks, John.”


	10. Chapter 10

“I need for you to tell us the truth, Lieutenant.”

Face looked to Hannibal, confused. “I have been telling the truth.”

“I need to know if you are you up to this. Are you?” Colonel Lewis asked bluntly, just as Hannibal had requested when Lewis questioned him about Face’s ability to testify.

“Yes,” Face answered firmly but still with a question in his expression.

“Colonel Smith, will you leave us please?”

As Hannibal rose a sense of panic could be seen in the Lieutenant’s eyes as they moved back and forth from one Colonel to the other. “He doesn’t have to leave. I don’t have anything to hide from him.”

“That’s good to know,” was all the Judge Advocate said. Hannibal had paused when he saw Face’s reaction. “Please Colonel Smith. If you’ll wait outside.” Lewis opened the door, holding the handle as Hannibal passed. “We’ll only be a few minutes.”

Lewis returned to the table and shuffled a few manila folders. Face noted he hadn’t put them in any new order, only moved them about. He was uneasy as to where this was going and why Hannibal had been asked to leave.

“Do you trust Colonel Smith?”

“Yes.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you trust Colonel Petersen?”

“Is this a trick question?”

“Should I take that as a no?”

“Yeah, I guess?”

“‘Yeah’ as in you trust Petersen or ‘yeah’ as in I should take that as a no?”

“No, I don’t.”

“You were unstable there for a second. Is that because your CO left the room?”

Face didn’t answer. He waited for another tell. None came. Lewis’ eyes were locked on his. He was waiting as well. The longer he waited the more Face wanted to squirm, but had enough sniper training to summon the self control to tamp down the desire. “What do want from me?” He finally asked.

“For you to answer the question.”

“I’m sorry. What was the question?”

“I’ve already asked you once.”

Face turned his head slightly. Barely squinting his eyes as his mind ran circles, looking for where this was going at the same time trying to remember the exact question. It was closing in on thirty seconds and he forced himself to let go, to not just say it, but also believe he did indeed have trust in Lewis. “Yes, it threw me.”

Lewis wasn’t interested in driving the point further. He’d made the impression he desired. “Lieutenant, I’m not enjoying tripping you up. I’m trying to prepare you. I understand the trust you have in your CO. Not just because of what he is, but who he is. I’ve never met Colonel Smith before today, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t heard of him. He’s become a bit of a legend. I would think working directly under him would be a choice position to hold for a soldier such as yourself.”

“What do mean by ‘such as yourself?’”

“I think a man of your talents would be able to shine with a man like Smith leading you. If it were me, it would be a problem. I’m a litigator and contrary to what you may see on TV we aren’t that imaginative. We just argue the law as we see it with a mind to having a judge see it in the same light.

“I asked the Colonel to leave the room because I wanted to get a feel for how much you depend on him. It seems the answer is ‘a lot.’ Though I worry about how much you relied on Petersen once upon a time.” Lewis studied him for a moment. The young officer was handsome, respectful, poised, intelligent, wary and probably emotionally damaged by the manipulative and abusive Petersen. There were direct questions he wanted to ask the young man, but was barred from doing so. “Colonel Smith will not be in the courtroom at the same time you are. I know you depend on him, but you’re going to have to place your trust in me.”

“You’re acting like I’m the one being put on trial here.”

“In a way you are. As a witness to Petersen’s past behavior your character is going to be under scrutiny. The court-martial of a senior officer is a grievous situation.” He gathered all the folders, tapping them into a neat pile. He gathered his brief case, dropping the folders inside. “Let’s join Colonel Smith and head over to Marfield’s for lunch. I think we’ve done all we can to prepare you. You’ll do fine. I have faith in you.”

 

******

 

Colonel Peter Lewis had been the prosecutor for the court-martial of First Lieutenant Jeff Meir for his assault on Petersen. During plea dealings, Lewis had half a notion to complete what Meir had started. At the start of discussions he knew Meir was only relating half of the events that precipitated the attack on the senior officer. Being careful to steer clear of even a whiff of DADT, it didn’t take crisis management training for him to put together a full and accurate account of what type of relationship the two had.

It had become clear to the young LT he wouldn’t walk away from the charges, nor go anywhere other than back the U.S. Disciplinary Barracks located there at Fort Leavenworth in Kansas where he had been held since being taken in by MPs. He was certain his military career was over. However, he didn’t know it wasn’t the first time Lewis would be satisfied with a minuscule amount of time served for a sentence. Unfortunately not all of the leeway afforded secular prosecutors was available to him in the arena of military court-martials, though he could make recommendations. Lewis couldn’t fathom participating in this young man’s fate without, at the very least, attempting to get a small slice of justice for him, or preferably, the whole goddamn cake.

It took several meetings and the assistance of the LT’s attorney to gain the trust of the soldier. Meir was reasonable. He understood he was either the rock or hard place Lewis was wedged between and was slowly coming around to the wisdom the man was offering.

“Names. Can you give me names.”

Here was a sticking point. Jeff didn’t know what he would do if he gave names only to have the tide turn on those men. “Do you really need names?” Meir asked.

Lewis didn’t allow his gaze to cut away from the spooked man across the table from him. “Yes. I believe I do.”

Meir looked to his attorney who nodded his approval. “Okay.” He took a deep breath. “One was a Lieutenant Phelps.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“He was at Irwin. But that was eight or nine years ago now. I have no idea where he might be now or if he’s even still in the Army.”

“Anything else? First name? Unit?”

“First name was Gary. Only other thing I know is he was or is a sniper.”

“Sniper,” Lewis mumbled to himself as he made a note. “Okay.”

“Lieutenant Brad Hall,” Meir continued, “He was from someplace west, like Nevada.”

“Anything else about him?”

Meir was shaking his head.

“Anyone else?”

“Lieutenant Templeton Peck. Couldn’t forget that one with a name like that. He’s a 75th Airborne Ranger. A sniper out of Benning. I think he was the one before me.”

“How did you come across these names?”

“George had a boot box, kept it in his closet under a stack of sweaters. It has...like mementos I guess. There’s a lock of hair, a tie, lots of photographs.”

“Keepsakes,” Lewis confirmed with Meir who once again nodded his head in agreement. “The names were in the box?”

“On the backs of the photos.”

“These were photos of the men?”

“Yes, among others,” Meir whispered.

Lewis gave him a moment before again prodding. “Can you tell me about the pictures, Jeff?”

“A lot of them were umm. What’s the word?” he stumbled. “Compromising.”

Lewis knew better than to push. He let Meir have his space, but only momentarily before continuing, “Compromising in what way?”

“You know,” he half whined.

“I need you to tell me.” He realized in his desire to nail Petersen to the wall he’d become brusque. More softly he again addressed the younger man, “Jeff, I can’t put words in your mouth. I know this is difficult, but I really need for you to explain. What is the nature of the photos?”

Meir wouldn’t look up, remained mute. The colonel decided he could encourage a reply without appearing to lead. And besides, Meir’s lawyer was present. “Are any of them professional portraits?”

The response he received was close to what he’d expected. Meir was brought up short by the attorney moving off his track, not pushing for what he was obviously uncomfortable about. “I don’t know if any are actually professional, but yeah there are a few that are posed-like.”

“Smiling at the camera kind of thing?”

“Yeah.”

“What else? Candid? At a party or just hanging around?”

“A few.”

“And they’re of each of the men you named.”

“I’m assuming so. They have names on the backs. Some have dates.”

“Any in embarrassing situations?”

“Yes.”

Lewis waited. Waited an uncomfortably long time until Jeff let out a sigh of resignation. “There are photos of bondage and what looked to me like assault.” He had gone this far, how much worse could it be? But still questioned one last time, “You promise this isn’t going to get the guys in the pictures in trouble, right?”

“Yes. I give you my word.”

“It was after I saw the pictures I went home after work one day and Petersen was waiting for me. I went into the bathroom and when I came out and walked by the bedroom I glanced in but had to stop and look again cuz there were restraints attached to the bed. That’s when we got in the argument and everything turned to shit.” He paused, looking beyond the JAG to the wall. “I told him I saw the pictures and he wasn’t going to do that shit to me. I told him I saw the one with all the blood. He got pissed. Was yelling I had no business going through his personal belongings. Told him he went through mine all the time. He said that was different because I belonged to him. He said no one would believe me if I said anything. And it just got worse from there. He took a swing at me and I took one at him and when it was over I was calling an ambulance.”

“Can you tell me exactly where this box is? Which closet?”

Jeff’s JAG broke in here. “How do you expect to get hold of the box without it being involved in discovery? That would expose the gentlemen Jeff asked be shielded.”

Turned out that wouldn’t be a problem. “I took the box,” Jeff confessed.

“You took it. He must know you have it.”

“I had it for like a week before the argument. I balled up a couple of things from the back of the closet to make it look like it was still there under the sweaters. I guess he never saw it was gone and he hasn’t been discharged from the hospital. So he hasn’t been home yet.”

“Alright.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Well Jeff, much as I’d like to, I can’t let you go. What I can do is reduce the charges to assault, argue for a minimum time sentence and recommend you not be dismissed from your service. I can’t make you any promises, but if you’ll allocute the argument that precipitated the incident was a result of fear for your personal safety after seeing the restraints attached to your bed, I will do everything in my power to get you minimum sentencing.”

The deal was reached and signed by both sides. Lewis retrieved the box from the on-base locker where Meir had stashed it and got to work. This predator had been in their midsts long enough. Time to dig him out like the vermin he was.

 

Petersen’s undoing was by his own hand. Whereas the three previous men had been trained U.S. Army snipers, Meir was not. The Colonel’s arrogance clouded what, as a seasoned officer, should have been obvious to him. Snipers are chosen in part for their mild manners and ability to focus. Hot heads cause more problems than do good. Though Jeff wasn’t off the rails he didn’t possess the self control ingrained in snipers both naturally and nurtured in their training. There is a patience and stoicism running through U.S. Army snipers that isn’t typically found in other soldiers. Other soldiers like Jeff.

Starting with the first name, Lewis tracked down the former Lieutenant, now one Major Gary Phelps, assigned to intelligence in Arlington. Meeting at a cafe not far from his Pentagon office, the Major looked physically pained with Lewis’ first words of, “I’m here to talk to you about Lt. Colonel George Petersen.” Gary couldn’t bring himself to complete the interview. Even after assurances their conversation would remain confidential he had to say he did his best to move on once he was out from under the man’s control. He was married with three children to a wife he’d never confided in and never would. He couldn’t revisit it.

Lewis told him he understood, “Here’s my card if you’d like to talk later.” Before leaving, Lewis reached a hand into his briefcase. Sliding a kraft envelope across the table he said, “This is all I have. There are some negatives in there, but I don’t know if or where there maybe more.” Phelps looked at the mustard colored envelope as though it contained poison. Lewis never did see him pick it up, instead felt a guilt leaving the man alone at the cafe table with a haunted envelope from years past.

Calistoga, California is located in the heart of Napa Valley wine country. After leaving the army as a Captain, Brad Hall had settled into a peaceful life managing his and his partner’s modest art gallery. It had taken several days between Lewis’ first contact with Hall and when an invitation was extended to the JAG to come for an interview. The Colonel met Brad and his partner Joe at their home overlooking a neighbors’ vineyard.

“I’d never told Joe about what happened with Petersen when I was in the service. Frankly it’s been too painful to ever think about.” Lewis watched as Joe’s hand latched firmly around Brad’s. The contact had a visible effect. Brad straightened and seemed to summon strength from the touch. He relayed the manipulative nature of the situation. He told of the injuries and hospital visits, all-off base and paid for out of pocket. It was one of Brad’s pictures Jeff was referring to as “the one with all the blood.”

Brad was hesitant to travel back down the path to his past tormentor. Interestingly to Lewis it seemed Joe was the one nudging Brad to assist in the investigation. “You’ve buried this for all these years. We’ll face it together.” With that said, Brad agreed to testify if need be.

“I’m going to try to avoid that. I still have one more currently serving officer who I’m trying to protect. We’re living in a world of don’t ask, don’t tell and I’d like to preserve this man’s career if I can.”

 

“Hannibal, do you know a Colonel Peter Lewis?” Face asked hopeful.

“No. At least I don’t think so. Who is he?” Hannibal had the phone in the crook of his neck while trying to attach the spool of fishing line to the new Weedwhacker he’d purchased that morning.

“He’s a JAG out of Kansas. Fort Leavenworth.”

“This about what happened to Petersen?” Hannibal asked as he dropped the spool. “Damnit,” he muttered.

“It’s the only thing I can think of.”

“He wouldn’t tell you?”

“No. Just asked if I’d meet with him if he flew down here.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Yes.”

“When will he be here?”

“Tomorrow.”

Clatter bang! “Son of a bitch!”

“What are you doing?”

“I bought a Weedwhacker. You’d think the damn spool would be on it, but it’s not. Who sells something like this? Nowhere on the package does it say ‘assembly required.’ Nowhere.”

“Want me to come over and load your Weedwhacker?”

“Would you?”

 

“He seems like a good soldier, a brave young man.”

“He’s an extraordinary young man,” Hannibal gave an honest assessment of the man who had excused himself for the men’s room.

“I can see why men want to serve under you. You’re generous,” Lewis added.

“It’s easy when you have the caliber of men I have.” Hannibal looked pensive for a moment, thinking carefully about his words. “I’m personally very thankful for what you’re doing here.”

“How’s that, Colonel?”

“Hannibal. Everyone calls me Hannibal.” He leaned back in his chair. “When Petersen was transferred out of Benning, it felt to me like that priest up in Boston a few years back. The one who had molested all those children, girls and boys. Think his name was Porter. Seems the church had received reports and complaints about him. Instead of dealing with the problem, turning him in, defrocking him, they’d shuffle him off to a new parish. Same thing’s been done with Petersen.” He took a sip of his iced tea. “That he inflicted the pain he did and was just quietly moved along to where he could do it again is abhorrent to me.”

“Did you do anything to stop it?”

“Thought I had. I discussed it with my own CO, who also happens to be a friend. He got it set in motion, then without warning he’s calling saying it was taken out of his hands. Said Petersen had been shuffled along.” He huffed a sardonic laugh. “Like a problem priest. Army’s more interested in preserving an illusion than preserving the young men he preyed on.”

Face returned to the table, picking up the menu he’d discarded. “Did you order yet?”

“Not the food. Got you a Coke. Thought you were having a burger.”

“I was thinking. If I’m in Kansas I should get some ribs. How are they here?”

“Okay.”

“Just okay?”

“I’d recommend the shepards pie,” Lewis was pointing to it on Face’s menu. “Tell ya what. When we’re done with this I’ll take the two of you to one of the best smoke houses around.”

“Sounds good.”

Lewis looked on as their waitress returned, eager to make the handsome LT’s dining experience a memorable one. He saw how the nickname suited him. For someone who was involved in this nasty business and preparing to confront a man who’d all but ruined him, he was thoroughly composed, wearing a mask while flirting shamelessly with a cute member of the waitstaff.

 

******

 

First Lieutenant Jeff Meir was the first to take the stand at the court-martial of George Charles Petersen, Lt. Colonel, U.S. Army. Colonel Lewis brought charges of abuse of authority, intimidation, conduct unbecoming, aggravated assault, and fraternization. If Lewis could have tacked on attempted murder he would have.

Before a panel of five assembled to hear the case headed by one General Richard Rogers, the Colonel expertly guided Meir through his testimony. It became evident the young officer was genuinely ashamed of losing his temper so spectacularly as to get into such a physical altercation resulting in him pleading guilty to assault of a superior officer.

It was the details of what transpired just before the argument that most interested Lewis. Meir was given a copy of his allocution from his own prosecution to read aloud after an overruled objection from the defense.

“Is that statement accurate, Lt. Meir?”

“Yes it is.” With that response Jeff saw Petersen lean into his lawyer, whispering. JAG Major Hartman’s head whipped up suddenly. He looked Petersen in the eye and vigorously shook his head no.

“Lt. Meir?”

His attention back on Lewis he tried to catch up with the proceedings, “I’m sorry, sir. Could you repeat that?”

“I asked you to verify where you were living at that time.”

“It was 1863 So. Payne Street, Manhattan, Kansas.”

“What type of structure? House? Apartment?”

“Duplex.”

“So you lived in one half and someone else in the other?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who was on the other side?”

“Students. It was close to the university.”

“Why did you choose to live off-base?”

“Col. Petersen had offered it to me.”

“How did you know Lt. Colonel Petersen.”

“He was my CO.”

“So you rented from the man you answered to directly.”

“I paid half the rent. He paid the other half.”

“Did you give the money to him?”

“Yes.”

“Did you write him checks?”

“Yes.”

“Made out to him?”

“Yes. With a note on that little note line saying what month it was for.”

“Did you always make that notation?”

“I did at the beginning, but the Colonel told me to stop putting that on there. When I asked him why he slapped my face and told me to just obey orders.”

“Did you both live there?”

Petersen cleared his throat causing a subconscious twitch in Meir. The sound had been drilled in him as a warning, an “or else.” A promise of consequences. Lewis noted the reaction and repositioned himself between the witness chair and defense table.

“Did you both live there?” he repeated.

“It was mainly just me. The Colonel wasn’t...” There was another throat clearing from behind the prosecutor. Meir gathered himself, eyes never leaving Lewis, who had promised to protect him in the courtroom. This wasn’t going to be a matter of throwing this kid to the DADT wolves. “The Colonel came frequently, but it wasn’t his regular residence.”

“He has another residence?”

“Yes. I mean he lived on base. I think.”

“You’re not sure?”

“Honestly, after finding out about all the lies he told me I’m not sure about a lot. That’s what he told me anyhow, you know, he lived on base and I’ve been to his quarters, a house. Don’t know if there’s anything else off-base.”

Lewis paused a beat in his questioning, waiting for an objection from the defense table. When there was none to question what other lies had been told besides this singular incident he learned something important about the opposing JAG. He was using caution. Careful not to bring out too much information about Petersen. “Did he say why he was looking for a renter?”

“Said he wanted someone to keep an eye on the place.”

“Did he say why he rented a place where he didn’t live?”

“No.”

“Prior the the incident with the straps on your bed, had there been any discord between the two of you?” A light cough came from behind Lewis. He watched as Meir’s eyes dropped to his lap. “Look at me, son. Had there been discord between you?”

“Some. Little arguments here and there. Then there were the ones that seemed to escalate out of proportion.”

“Did this happen a lot?”

“I’d say often.”

“Was it a matter of you being insubordinate to a superior officer?” Lewis asked being sure it was put out there by himself rather than under cross.

“No. This was different. It didn’t have to do with the army or my service.

“Can you give me an example?”

“One night I got home and George, I mean the Colonel was there. Said he’d been waiting for me for a couple of hours. Wanted to know where I’d been. I told him he hadn’t been there for a couple of hours cuz I had stopped in a half hour, maybe forty-five minutes before and he wasn’t there.”

“Why did you go home then back out again? Why not stay home once you got there?”

“I ran into someone I knew. He’d been over the weekend before and left a lighter. I went to get it to give it back to him.”

“I take it it wasn’t a disposable lighter.”

“No. It was an old Zippo. It was engraved. Had my friend’s last name on it, but a different first name. Thought it might be something he’d want back. And it was. Belonged to his father.”

“So when Colonel Petersen said he’d been there for a couple hours...”

“I knew he hadn’t been.”

“Could he have been maybe using the bathroom or elsewhere in the unit.”

“No. The lighter was in my bedroom. I put it on my dresser for safekeeping. I would have seen if someone was in the bathroom. It’s all open in there. I would have seen someone else there.”

“So what happened when you confronted him?”

“He asked me if I was calling him a liar. Told him yeah, I was.” Meir paused. “Then he hit me.”

“How did he hit you? A slap?”

“No. He punched me. Got me right in the side of the face. Knocked me off my feet. Then he was on top of me screaming and punching. Knocked a tooth out too. ”

“Was he screaming words?”

“Yeah. He was yelling at me for calling him a liar. Said I should know better. Kept calling me stupid.”

“How did it end?”

“He got up and left.”

“That was it? Didn’t say anything?”

“Told me if I told anyone who beat me, they wouldn’t find me to ask more questions. Said no one would believe me anyhow and it was my own fault for making him mad.”

“Was that the only time something like that happened?”

“No.”

“Did you ever fight back?”

“Only the once.”

“Why only the one time? Why not other times?”

“He always told me no one would believe me or he’d make sure I couldn’t tell anyone.”

“How did you interpret that?”

“Objection. Requires supposition.”

“Sustained.”

“Did you feel threatened?”

“Yes.”

“Physically?”

“Yes.”

“What else had he told you in relation to these physical altercations?”

“He’d say he owned me and could do whatever he wanted to me and I needed to take it. Other times he said I needed to be disciplined. If I wasn’t so stupid I’d figure out making him mad wasn’t a good idea.”

“Except the one time it didn’t matter. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“When I saw those cuffs on the bed and remembered...” he stopped. Had almost brought up the photos. It went unsaid the photographs wouldn’t become part of the record. His own JAG pointed out the way Lewis worded what he should allacute to and hadn’t brought up the photos. He knew Lewis was trying to protect him and the other men. “When I remembered how bad it was when I could at least shield the blows, I wasn’t going to let him tie me down.”

“Objection. This is not a retrial of the previous case.”

“May we approach,” Lewis asked the magistrate.

General Rogers agreed, “Approach.”

“General, sir. This testimony goes to show a pattern of the defendant’s.”

“The court record speaks for itself. We don’t need to have what this witness did to the defendant brought up again,” argued Hartman.

“Puts it in perspective, sir,” Lewis added.

“Step back.” Then louder, “Objection overruled.”

Lewis turned to Meir who now had his head turned away with his hands firmly gripping his knees. He glanced at Petersen who wore a sly smile. He correctly interpreted Petersen’s glare had shaken Meir. _You son of a bitch_ he thought.

Meir looked to Lewis, clearly wordlessly asking if it was over. Lewis thought he had done well and had reached his limit.

“I have nothing further.”

“Major?” the magistrate asked.

Petersen and Hartman were in the midst of a heated debate. As Lewis sat behind his table he caught a bit of it, relieved things were going as he planning and hoping the defense’s jurisprudence remained centered on the ethic of doing no harm to one’s charge or client.

“Major Hartman!” Rogers snapped.

“I’m sorry, sir. I have no questions at this time, though I request the right to recall the witness.” Petersen’s angry scowl told Lewis Hartman had refused him. He knew very well Petersen didn’t take well to being refused.

“Permission granted and so noted.”

“Lieutenant Meir, you are excused. You may be called back. Do you understand?”

He thought he was done. Jeff flipped a glance in Lewis’ direction who nodded once at him. “Yes, I understand, sir.”

Addressing the MPs in the courtroom Rogers said, “MPs, please escort the witness back into custody.

 

“Gentlemen.” Lewis was surprised to see the men had arrived at his office before him. He had called from the courthouse to say he was on his way, but thought it would take longer for them to leave their hotel and get through security. “I hope you understand I can’t discuss the details of what happened in court today. But what I can tell you is his JAG is smart enough to refuse to incriminate his client, no matter how forcefully Petersen pushes.”

“So what does that mean for Brad? Is he going to have to testify?”

“I’m hoping not. I believe our next witness may be enough for him to think twice and accept a plea. Today’s session told me his JAG will understand reason.

“The Lieutenant today did an excellent job of laying groundwork. I foresee the testimony tomorrow will be compelling.”

 

After stating his name and rank Face took the oath to speak only the truth.

“Good morning, Lieutenant Peck. Let’s jump right in. Is it correct you are a member of the 75th Ranger Regiment?”

“Yes.”

“But at the time you were under Lt Colonel Petersen’s command you were not deployed. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“You are a highly trained soldier with extensive firearms expertise. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Why were you never deployed?”

“I was deployed, but brought back.”

“You were brought back from deployment. What reasons were you given?”

“I was told I wasn’t good enough for deployment.”

“By whom?”

“Colonel Petersen.”

“What were you failing at?”

“He didn’t really give a particular reason.”

“So you were returned stateside for no particular reason.”

“He said I would be more useful stateside rather than as an underachieving sniper.”

“Did your teammate also return stateside?”

“Not that I’m aware. When I came back he stayed.”

“Did you travel back alone?”

“No. I returned with Colonel Petersen.”

“Had you received any warnings or disciplinary actions prior to being told you weren’t good enough to remain on deployment?”

“No. I was just told I would accompany the Colonel when he returned.”

“Why did Colonel Petersen return stateside?”

“He was assigned to oversee the development of new drone reconnaissance technology.”

“Is it fair to say when he returned to the States he took you with him?”

“Yes.”

“Objection. Already stated.”

“Sustained,” Rogers noted without looking away from Second Lieutenant Templeton Peck.

“Is it also fair to say even though you weren’t good enough for deployment as a sniper, you were exceptional as a firearms instructor?”

“Yes.”

“Did you have problems completing assignments while overseas?”

“No.”

“Were you able to carry out orders as a U.S. Army Ranger sniper?”

“Yes.”

“Were you directly under Lt. Colonel Petersen when deployed?”

“No. I was under Major Daniel Hassert. He was directly under Colonel Petersen.”

“Did Major Hassert speak with you about poor performance?”

“No.”

“Were you deployed to Peru for a year?”

“Yes, sir.”

“It was your second time there when you stayed for a year, is that correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What was your objective?”

“That second time?”

“Yes.”

“I conducted firearms training for select members of the Peruvian Army and law enforcement.”

“What do you mean by select members?”

“I was training the trainers. I was training a select group of men and women who would go on to bolster the then current firearms training already in place in their military and law enforcement agencies.”

“You sound like a very intelligent man to me, Lieutenant,” Lewis stated as he crossed back to his table.

“Uhh..Thank you?”

Lewis held up an issue of Military Times with a photo of Face standing, arms crossed, blue eyes vibrant on the cover. “Do you recognize this, Lieutenant?”

“Yes. It’s a copy of Military Times.”

“Why so humble? This is an issue of Military Times featuring you and the work you were doing in Peru at the time. You were the cover story.”

There was grumbling coming from the defense table. “Objection. Is there a question?”

“Colonel?” was all Rogers said.

“Do you feel your career has improved since being removed from Lt. Colonel Petersen’s command?”

“Yes.”

“Aside from your work, has your general outlook improved since being removed from Lt. Colonel Petersen’s command?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell us how?”

“I don’t feel desperate anymore.”

Lewis was tripped up for a moment. That wasn’t the response they had rehearsed, but it hit squarely at the heart of the matter.

“I see you are wearing an assortment of commendations. Have those all been earned since your first return to the states?”

“No, sir. Most are from my deployment to Iraq.”

“Under the command of Major Daniel Hassert.”

“Yes.”

“So your direct CO didn’t see fit to discuss performance issues with you and you received a notable amount of commendations. Tell me Lieutenant, where did you fail?

“I don’t know.”

“Did you live on base when you returned to Fort Benning?”

“No, sir.”

“Why not?”

A throat clearing echoed through the room. Both Lewis and Rogers saw the witness flinch. Employing the same tactic as he did with Meir he stepped between Face and Petersen before repeating the question. “Lieutenant, why did you not live on base?”

“The Colonel told me he kept an off-base apartment and wanted someone to live in it, maintain it.”

“Did you pay the rent on the apartment?”

“Half of it.”

“To whom did you pay the amount to?”

“To Colonel Petersen.”

“Did you write checks?”

“Yes.”

“Did you make notations on the checks?”

“Most of them.”

“What did you note?”

“The word ‘Rent’ and the month and date.”

“Did the Colonel ever request you stop making that notation?”

Another throat clearing and another flinch.

“Does the defense table need their water carafe refilled?” Rogers barked.

“No sir,” Hartman replied.

“Then I suggest your client stay quiet.”

“Yes sir.”

“Reporter, repeat the question,” Rogers ordered.

“Yes sir, ‘Did the Colonel ever request you stop making that notation?’”

“Go ahead and answer, Lieutenant,” Lewis urged

“Yes.”

“Did you stop?”

“Not at first.”

“Why?”

“I write notes on almost all my checks. It’s habit. Helps me keep my register straight. So I just did it without thinking.”

“When did you stop?”

“After he slammed me into a wall and told me I didn’t want to make him angry by not following orders.”

“Was that the only time he was physical with you?”

“No.”

“Did he make verbal threats?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you tolerate it?”

“I started to believe him.”

“What did you believe?”

“That he owned me. That no one would believe me if I said what was happening. That I was stupid. I wasn’t capable of making my own decisions. No one else would want me in their unit and I was lucky he put up with me. That I’d better not piss him off or he would tie me down and beat me again like he did that one night.”

“What one night are you referring to?”

“We had had an argument about something. I don’t even remember what it was. George had left and I went to bed. I woke up in the night to George next to the bed. He had a belt and he was slapping it on his hand. I jumped, but couldn’t get up.”

“Why was that?”

“I was tied to the bed.”

“You didn’t notice when you were being tied? It didn’t wake you?”

“No. I was really disoriented and dizzy.”

“Lt. Colonel George Petersen beat you with a belt while you were restrained.”

“Yes,” Face confirmed low.

“Were you restrained with ropes?”

“No. They were cuffs.”

“Handcuffs?”

“Leather.”

“Were you warned not to report the incident?”

“Yes.”

“Who is your CO now?”

“Lt. Colonel Jonathan Smith, 75th Airborne Ranger Regiment, 3rd Ranger Battalion.”

“He go by the name Hannibal?”

“That’s him.”

“Has Colonel Smith ever called you stupid?”

“No.”

“Has he ever said you were lucky to have him as a CO?”

“I think I am, but he’s never said it.”

“The Colonel has said he’s lucky to have you, hasn’t he.”

“Yes.”

“How did you wind up with Smith?”

“I asked him to help me.”

“Do I need to ask if he did?”

“No. He’s been there for me.”

“Nothing further. Thank you, Lieutenant.”

“Major Hartman? Cross?” Rogers said without looking up from the note he was writing.

“Yes sir.” Hartman rose with his client glaring at his side. He shook off his uneasiness and approached the witness thinking to himself his client was an asshole. “Hello Lieutenant.”

“Sir.”

“Did you seduce Colonel Petersen?”

“No,” Face answered, incredulous.

“Did you attempt to seduce Colonel Petersen.”

“No.”

“Did you seduce Lt. Colonel John Smith?”

“No!”

“When was the last time you went on a date?”

“Objection. Relevance.”

“Sir, may I have some leeway? It will be relevant in a moment.”

“Bring it around quickly, Major.”

“Yes sir.” He turned back to Face, “When was the last time you went on a date?”

“Last Sunday.”

“Sunday, not a Saturday night?”

“No.”

“First date?”

“First official.”

“What does that mean? Official that is.”

“We met previously then ran into each other again earlier in the week. I actually asked her out for Saturday, but she couldn’t make it. So we met on Sunday.”

“‘She’ you said?”

“Yeah?”

“I understand you were assaulted inside the apartment you rented from Colonel Petersen and hurt badly enough to require hospitalization. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“This was just before joining then Major Smith’s unit, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Are you a bisexual, Lieutenant?”

“Objection! Don’t ask......Don’t tell!”

“Sustained! This is warning, Major.”

Hartman barreled ahead. “By that ruling which states, ‘A statement by a reliable person that he or she observed or heard a soldier engage in a homosexual act or state that he or she...” the Major was cut off from his recitation by Lewis.

“Objection! Who is this reliable person?”

“Captain, who is your source?” General Rogers asked.

“Colonel Petersen, your honor.”

“Objection!” Lewis bellowed. “The Colonel on trial can’t possibly be considered a reliable person under these circumstances.”

“I agree. The man standing court-martial is a dubious source to say the least. Can you provide precedent, Major?”

“No sir.”

“By not conjuring a precedent I’m wondering if this was meant as an open door for appeal. The objection is sustained counselor.”

“Yes sir.” Hartman turned his attention to the Lieutenant once more. “Were you in the habit of bringing men home with you to the apartment?”

“Objection!”

“I did not ask the Lieutenant his sexual preference.”

Rogers skimmed up and down the Major, “Overruled.”

“Were you in the habit of bringing men home with you to the apartment?”

“No.”

“You didn’t pickup men in bars to accompany you home at night?”

“No.”

“But you brought a man home the night you were so badly beaten you were removed from the premises in an ambulance.”

“No.”

“You weren’t so badly hurt by him you left in an ambulance?”

“Objection. Asked and answered.”

“Sustained.”

“Weren’t you beaten and sexually assaulted by one of your pickups?”

Face looked at Petersen. There was that smirk. The smirk that controlled him with a promise of punishment. He couldn’t break away from the gaze. Couldn’t form words. The commotion around him as another objection and more threats of sanctions were made was for Face only white noise in the distance.

“Lieutenant?”

“Yes?” Face was shaken. Things had taken an ugly turn and as much as Lewis was trying to divert the questioning, Hartman was relentlessly driving on.

“Were you not sexually assaulted on the night of March 20, 1995.”

A tin voice broke through the stark silence, “ _Hello_ ,” could be heard followed by a long pause. “ _Hello. You there Lieutenant?_ ” The disturbance was enough to break the LT’s spell. It took a moment for Face to figure out it was his phone. “ _Think you butt-dialed me Lieutenant_.”

“What is that?” Rogers asked, annoyed.

“I’m sorry, sirs. It’s my phone. I could have sworn I turned it off.” He extricated the phone from his pocket to see the phone was indeed powered up and the last call recorded as incoming and with a connection time of the past 47 minutes, the length of time since he had left Hannibal in the hallway. “My apologies” he said as he shut the device off. He found himself relieved and bolstered by the sound of Hannibal’s voice.“Could you repeat the question?”

“I believe I was asking about the person you had brought home with you the night you were assaulted. Did you indeed bring someone to your apartment?”

“Not exactly.”

“It’s a yes or no question.”

“No.”

“You didn’t invite a tall, white man to your apartment the night of your assault?”

“It wasn’t like that. I...”

“Yes or no.”

Lewis resisted his urge to put a stop to the questioning. The Lieutenant appeared to have rallied.

“No. I did not.”

“Then why, according to the police report, are there witnesses who claimed they saw you with a white male of above average height, perhaps forty years of age enter your apartment the night in question.”

“That was Colonel Smith. He...”

“Why did you just deny you were with a man that night in your apartment?”

“I didn’t deny it. He had...”

“Would you like me to have the transcript read? It won’t take long to find it. You just now testified that you did not bring anyone home with you that night!”

Face looked to the line of judges, “I didn’t...”

“Don’t look at them! Look at me!” Hartman shouted.

“But...”

“Objection! He’s not letting the Lieutenant speak!”

Rogers turned to Face. “Clarify what you mean by changing your testimony.”

“With all due respect, sir, I didn’t change my testimony. I’d like...

“What are you trying to pull here...” Hartman badgered.

Face’s anger finally blew, “I can’t explain if you keep interrupting!”

“Look here...”

“Enough Captain. Let the man talk!”

“Thank you, sir. You asked if I invited someone home with me that night. You told me I had to answer yes or no. It’s not that simple. I had met Colonel Smith playing pool and he drove me home that night and asked if he could use my bathroom. I told him yes. He used the bathroom then only stayed for about another ten minutes. So the answer is no, I did not invite someone home with me. He asked if he could come in.”

“Are you saying Colonel Smith is not the person who attacked you?”

“Yes, I’m saying that. He left.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes I am.”

“Yet you told the Military Police you couldn’t remember who assaulted you. How can you testify now that it wasn’t Colonel Smith?

“Because I lied,” Face stated defiantly. “I do know who it was.” He heard the unmistakable sound of Petersen clearing his throat. Face refused to look at him. “It was Colonel Petersen.”

“So let me get this straight. You just admitted to being a liar, but you want us to believe your attacker was Colonel Petersen. Is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes,” Face responded with a little less bravado. He glanced at Lewis regaining resolve. “He accused me of having sex with the Colonel, I mean at that time, Major Smith. He didn’t give me time to respond before he knocked me down and attacked me. It was him. He...”

“That’s enough,” Hartman tried to break in.

“I was afraid of him! He terrorized me. I was afraid to report him.”

“Enough!”

“You don’t..”

“Lieutenant,” Rogers interceded. “Get control of yourself.” As soon as he said it he knew it was futile. The young man in the witness chair was visibly vibrating, hands white knuckled as they grasped at the chair arms. “Any more questions, Major?”

“No. Not at this time, sir. I request the option to recall the witness.”

“Noted.” The General was unamused. “Have a seat, Major,” he said to Hartman.

“Redirect, sir?”Lewis was out of chair.

“Go ahead.”

“Why didn’t you initially say it was Petersen who attacked you that night?”

“Because I was afraid of him.”

“You’re a U. S. Army soldier, a ranger, a war zone sniper. Are you saying you’re a coward?”

“Maybe. Not as a soldier, but maybe otherwise. It wasn’t about patriotism or country or valor or honor or the Constitution or or...” He was stumbling.

“Then what was it about, Lieutenant?”

“It was about me not being murdered by that psychopath.” Face’s breaths were coming short and shallow.

“Objection!”

“Sustained. Watch yourself, Lieutenant.”

“Did Colonel Smith say he would protect you?”

“Yes.”

“Was that enough for you to feel safe?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I was scared and didn’t trust anyone.”

“Do you trust anyone now?”

“Yes.”

“Name two.”

“Hannibal and you.”

Lewis could only smile. It had been difficult, but Peck had made it through. “That’s all. Thank you, Lieutenant Peck.”

“I have more questions ready for the Lieutenant.”

Face visibly sagged hearing this from Hartman.

General Reese at the far end of the panel spoke into his microphone. “I’d like to take a recess.”

Each member of the panel covered their microphones causing loud rustling to come from the wall speaker. After a short conference they agreed, “Yes, it maybe wise to break. It is 13:45 we will break now and reconvene at 1500 hours. Lieutenant Peck you are to speak with no one during this recess. Am I understood?”

Before Face could respond Hartman barked, “I want him sequestered. I don’t doubt he will discuss this while he waits.”

Without further conference General Rogers spoke. “We will not sequester him. I believe he is in need of a break too. We will assign an MP to him if that makes you feel better.”

What could he say? “Yes. That will be satisfactory.”

Rogers signaled to one of the MPs at the door. Approaching Rogers he said, “Sir! I am assigned to be one of two MPs to escort Lt. Colonel Petersen. I request a replacement be called in my place before I escort Lt. Peck, sir.” It was true they needed a replacement, but the MP had had it with escorting that arrogant Colonel around.

 

At the end of the hall Hannibal stood as Face approached. With as many people crowding the corridor he didn’t consider the MP beside him was accompanying him.

“Face,” he said as he stood.

Face didn’t acknowledge him. Instead the MP placed himself between the two. “Colonel sir! The Lieutenant is under orders to not converse with anyone during this recess.”

Hannibal looked beyond the MP’s shoulder. His thought of catching the young officer’s eye was aborted when he saw Face staring resolutely straight ahead. He saw fast movement behind the two as they continued toward the men’s room, it was Lewis.

Hannibal stepped in front of the JAG, using his full height for effect. Straight and tall, chest out arms slightly away from sides, he blocked Lewis. “What the hell went on in there? Face looks like he’s heading to a firing squad!”

“Don’t have time, Colonel. Everything’s falling into place. Your Lieutenant was a rock star in there.” Lewis was trying to get past him.

“Then why is he under guard?”

“He’s not allowed to discuss the testimony with anyone until he’s released to do so sometime after 1300 hours. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m in a hurry.” Turning sideways he slipped past an angry and confused Hannibal.

 

“Of course it blew up! It’s exactly what I told you would happen. You don’t challenge someone on something they have an upper hand on, and more! You must have known he’d say that!” Hartman was pissed. This arrogant son of a bitch played right into the prosecutors hands. Lewis may as well have clapped his hands then held them out while calling, “Come here, boy. Come on.”

“He had no business talking about me like that!”

“That’s what you have to contribute?!” Hartman pushed his fingers through his short hair. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

“You tell them I didn’t do it!”

“How am I supposed to do that when you’re acting like this? You’ve been publicly arguing with me for two days now!”

“It’s easy! Lie! You’re a fucking lawyer. Go do what you’re suppose to do!”

“I’ve had enough. I’m asking for recusal.” Hartman began gathering papers from the table.

“You piece of shit,” was said low and dangerous across from Hartman.

Somewhere between Petersen’s last words and when he was over the table coming at him, Hartman heard a voice yelling, “Get it open now! Get in there!”

Scrambling back to his feet he looked on dismayed as two MPs had Petersen on the floor and were overshadowed by two, maybe three more. He couldn’t be sure in the tangle of arms and torsos and legs and helmets. That voice was there again, but now it was nearby. “Hartman! Are you injured? Answer me.”

Looking to his right there was Lewis, in his face, demanding an answer. “No. I don’t think so.”

Lewis moved away and began barking orders at the MPs, “Get him in that chair!”

“Let go of me! Let go! I will sit on my own!” Finally seated he glared at the two JAGs.

Lewis went to the doorway to retrieve his briefcase while Hartman waved off an MP’s offer of assistance in gathering his paperwork. With it in a clump he kept his eyes on Petersen now flanked by MPs. Dropping the disheveled mess on the askew table he flipped his hands out in exasperation.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes,” he lied feeling a numbness on the back of his head he was sure was turning into a swollen hematoma, not to mention his decidedly painful left arm. “I’m sorting out this pile then going to recuse myself.”

“Don’t do that until you hear me out.”

“I don’t give a damn what you have to say. Not any more than I give a damn what happens to him.”

“You little punk,” Petersen growled.

“Shut up Petersen before I have you gagged.”

“He has no business talking to superiors like that!” Petersen continued.

“He’s not bothering me.” Lewis turned his back on the blowhard. “Major. I’d like to have a word with you outside.”

The struggle was evident on Hartman’s face. Taking a deep breath, he finally sighed in resignation.

“If he moves cuff him to the chair,” Lewis ordered the MPs. He knocked on the door for the MPs standing guard outside the room to unlock the door. Holding it open he motioned the Major to proceed him, “Please, go ahead.”

When they returned, Petersen’s disposition hadn’t improved by much. Lewis remained by the once again locked door while Hartman took a position several feet from the table that separated him from the client he couldn’t be rid of too soon.

“Colonel Lewis has made a plea offer...”

“I’m not taking any offers that don’t involve me being exonerated of this bullshit. I’m walking out of here!”

Hartman looked to Lewis and rolled his eyes. Lewis only nodded.

“Don’t you roll your eyes at me you punk. How dare you behave like that towards a superior?”

“Shut your trap, George.” Hartman was fed up with this rank dance.

“You listen to me...”

“Still talking over here, George.” Hartman stomped on his words. “You are not intimidating me like you did those young men. You’re forgetting you haven’t reeled me in with any wining and dining. All you’ve offered me are demands and insults. You wanna walk out of here? Then you’re going to listen closely and you’re going to take a deal.” He paused to be sure he had the man’s attention. “You have choices. Three of them. Option one: We can go back into court and I will recuse myself then promptly go down the hall to the MP office and press charges for assault.” He held up a finger when he saw Petersen’s mouth open to speak. “Still talking. Where was I? You will not walk away from the charges, George. There were too many witnesses. Your next choice is option one plus continue this court-martial. Lieutenants Meir and Peck are extremely persuasive on their own but will be joined by another witness. A former Lieutenant Hall who is prepared to testify to your homosexual affair and pretty much a repeat of Meir and Peck’s testimony.”

From the direction of the door came the words, “You _will_ be found guilty. I will rain down a team of investigators and JAGs you have never seen and the charges will include sexual assault and non consensual homosexuality.”

“You will be imprisoned and dismissed from service,” continued Hartman.

“And I’ll take every one of those whores down with me,” Petersen inserted defiantly.

“That maybe, but they will be cushioned, protected,” Lewis interjected.

“So you could ruin soldiers under you, but you’ll be imprisoned with it made public what you’ve done. How do you think that will go over with your fellow inmates?” the Major asked. “Option three is keep your mouth shut about your homosexual activities. You will be dismissed, but there will be no imprisonment.”

The two JAGs waited.

“I want these proceedings sealed,” Petersen finally stated.

Hartman looked to Lewis. Lewis took his time to reply. “I can’t agree to that...”

“Then go fuck yourself.”

“As much as that appeals to me along with watching you wither past the age of old here in Leavenworth, I’m not ...”

“You want me to ‘keep my trap shut’ about those boys?” He quirked his fingers, “Like it or not you’re going to make some concessions.”

“If you would allow me to finish, I will tell you what I have in mind.” Lewis raised his brows and cocked his head to no additional interruption. “I, me, cannot agree to sealed documents. I can, however, make a recommendation to the panel.” He paused again. “I will make that recommendation.”

“And I won’t accept a dismissal,” Petersen said bringing up the commissioned officer equivalent of a dishonorable discharge.

Hartman had abdicated. He may have still been standing there but he checked out in spirit. He waited for Lewis’ reply, comfortable with whatever he negotiated.

“Again that is not something I can agree to, only make recommendations regarding.” Lewis failed to mention his recommendation would be for dismissal not to mention permanent restraining orders. “Now for the final part of option three, which is a non-disclosure. A provision of the non-disclosure is if you discuss with anyone, aside from a therapist under confidentiality, the details of what you did to those men, you will forfeit your freedom. Do you have any questions or need anything repeated?”

 

Hannibal stayed close even though he couldn’t converse with Face who resolutely refused to look his way. Lewis had hurried past him back into the courtroom only saying, “It’s almost done. Just need to present a plea to the panel.”

It was half an hour later when Lewis poked his head out the door and pointed at Face and the MP then crooked his finger in a summons. It was only another moment when Face again stepped out, making a beeline for Hannibal. With a hand on a shoulder Face was guided to a bench where they sat silently waiting for Col. Lewis.

 

Being longer than expected Lewis wasn’t surprised to find them with jackets open, a loosened tie for anyone else, Face looking out window, Hannibal sitting on a bench staring down to the space of floor between his shoes. “Gentlemen. Let’s get out of here. I’ll explain the plea over ribs.”

They approached the elevator bank just as a door slid open. Hannibal hurried Face ahead blocking the entrance.

Over his shoulder he told Lewis, “Take the next one.”

With the door closed behind him.Hannibal pressed the stop button and opened his arms, “Come here kid.”

Face went to him, enfolded in those long arms. “Thank you for coming, Hannibal.”

“Bill wanted to come, but I won the coin toss.”

Face huffed a quiet laugh into the boss’s shoulder.

“If I’d lost I was going to pull rank.”

“I need a drink.”

“I know.”

 

******

 

The three had gone to Lewis’ home where he and his wife had hosted Hannibal and Face. After changing out of uniform they tried unsuccessfully to convince the JAG’s wife, Molly, to join them for a dinner out of ribs and cornbread.

 

Face again excused himself for the men’s room after placing his order.

”That was a neat trick you pulled back there, turning his phone on.”

“I occasionally have trouble playing by the rules,” Hannibal understated. “Thank you for what you’ve done for him, Peter,” he said sincerely.

“It was my pleasure and he’s already thanked me himself.”

“Well I appreciate what you’ve done too.”

"I’ll tell ya, Face is the one who put the final nail in that asshole’s coffin. What you said a few days ago was on the mark.”

“What was that?”

“You told me he’s an extraordinary young man.” He let it sink in before adding, “And he’s lucky to have you.”

 

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	11. Chapter 11

“Who found them?” Hannibal was trying to put the story together from these fragmented bits and pieces. “Where are they now? They’re being returned here?” He was standing, torn between getting as much information as he could and wanting to run out into the Iraqi sun. He cut the call short when he heard the thrumming of a bird approaching, sure it was the Black Hawk bringing his boys in.

It was easily two hundred yards from his tent and makeshift office to the pad where the helicopter would land. Knowing he was only halfway there when the whine of the helicopter’s engine being cut reached his ears, he changed direction. Veering left he made a line to the CSH.

His understanding was one of them was in bad shape, possibly taken a bullet. The other managed to evacuate the both of them, carrying the wounded soldier through a hostile filled landscape. Avoiding Hussein’s troops while zigzagging through the maze of foothills.

The Canadian sniper team were the first to catch sighted of them. After several rounds of communique it was determined, more than likely, it was the American team, Stewart and Peck. The Canadians relayed one member was either dead or injured with the other holding him in a fireman’s carry and dragging equipment as he stumbled amongst the stones and rocks. Still five hundred fifty meters out as measured by the spotter, at the stilted pace they were moving they wouldn’t reach even the Canadian’s team until well after sundown.

Told to hold their position the sniper team were within a breath of calling in again, this time to request permission to break and go to the men. But their attention was diverted by the sound of a bird approaching and the clear words of one of its crew chiefs establishing contact.

Flying low over the Canadian’s elevated perch, the Black Hawk landed ten yards from the Americans thanks to the precision coordinates they were given by the two-man sniper team. The Canadians each scoped the surrounding area prepared to take out anyone foolish enough to attempt to interfere as the Americans moved in fast with stretchers to carry both men. The chopper was on the ground for just over seven minutes. Lifting off, one of the pilots sent a hardy thank you to the team on the ground whom they never saw, being well camouflaged in their ghille suits.

 

“Lieutenant Peck, please stay where you are. You need that IV.”

Face ignored the crew chief and wobbled to his feet to stand beside where Bill lay prone on the drop down cot above his own.

Bill’s eyes didn’t track to Face. Peering bleary eyed across the interior of the chopper he was still aware of his teammate’s presence. “I’m not going to be much good to anyone anytime soon. Up to you to take care of Hannibal. Will you do that Face?”

“Of course I will.“ The LT blinked back tears.

Bill reached with his good hand, his eyes now doing their best to focus on the man beside him. “Don’t cry, Face. You’re a fucking hero. Be proud of yourself. You got us out of there.” With eyes again shifted away he added “Take care of him, Face. He needs you and depends on you. Now go take a nap, you look exhausted.”

“I’m okay. I’ll...”

“That’s an order Lieutenant.”

A half smile slid into place. “Yes, Captain.”

The percussion of the bird was replaced by the hum of smaller machinery playing in the background of Face’s sleep. It was mere seconds when the meaning registered and he was fully awake, surrounded in white. An American flag hung on the tent wall behind him and as always the juxtaposition of medical personnel in Army ACUs reminded him he was nowhere near home, with another thought thrown in of, wherever that is.

“Lieutenant. Lie back. You’re not going anywhere.”

“I need to check on my Captain.”

One female voice was exchanged for another as a serious face came into view. “Your name?” Still not fully awake, his confusion must have been obvious. “Soldier, can you tell me your name?”

“Face.”

“Do you understand me? Let’s try your rank and your name.”

 _She wants to be official_ he thought. “Second Lieutenant Templeton Peck, 75th Airborne Ranger, 3rd Battalion.”

A smile softened the view. “I’m Major Lawrence. I’m the doctor who has been overseeing your care. Do you remember what happened to you?”

“Nothing happened to me.”

“Do you recall your last mission?”

 _Vaguely_ he thought. He was with Bill.

“Is any of it coming back to you?”

“Reconnaissance?”

“That’s right. Were you with anyone?”

“Bill.”

“Who’s Bill?”

“Captain William Stewart.” The memories flooded him. The two of them caught out, firing at a group of soldiers, then the shadow of Bill’s form going down in his peripheral. He remembered his first look at the wound. His anger wanting to rage, instead using it for precision. There were only a half dozen or so, every one of them an idiot, giving their positions away like children too excited to hold still in a game of hide and seek. He had flashes of walking alongside the Captain, supporting his weight. The argument he won. He wouldn’t leave Bill behind to get help. The weight becoming unmanageable the farther they stumbled along. What he wanted to leave behind was the damned sniper system, but he’d probably get in big trouble for abandoning a $15,000 rifle. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know exactly. He was taken directly to surgery.”

“Where’s Hannibal?”

No clarification needed there. Everyone knew Hannibal. “He was here until about an hour ago. He said he’d be back, so stay still until he returns. We’re forcing fluids. You were quite dehydrated. I’ll be back to check on you again in a little while.”

Too many thoughts and images were whirling through his head. He knew he should thank her, but it was too late, she’d gone. He needed to get out of there and find Hannibal. Sitting up his abs pulled tightly. No doubt overworked from carrying Bill for who knows how many miles. He felt an all over body tremble become more pronounced the more he tried to control it. _Fatigue. Just relax some_. That seemed to bring it back under control.

He waited for his body to settle, not yet trusting his legs to support him. He looked around himself. If anyone had even noticed him sitting up, they were otherwise too engaged in other patients. Taking several slow deep breaths cleared his vision and the dizziness threatening nausea.

The butterfly taped to the back of his hand was his only tether. None of the other typical monitors attached made him wonder how long he had been there. Long enough to determine he was stable but for the fluids. Long enough for the boss to have departed an hour prior. He carefully shifted a shaking leg off the side of the fully functional hospital bed. Controlled breaths helped ease the other to join it. His shirt was wide open, but thankfully on him. No need for a hunt and as usual unless heading for surgery or another bed in a quiet ward his boots were still on his feet.

The IV bag was only halfway through with a second beside to take its place. He’d made it as far as he had in the desert carrying his Captain, he could manage a little walk around base in, what glancing out a rare window proved to be, the cool of the night. Grasping the roller clamp, he paused the flow of liquid seeping into his vein one drop at a time. Contemplating leaving the butterfly in place he instead chose Plan B, removing it. Too much chance of infection leaving it where it was.

A moment of pressure found the blood under the puncture coagulated. He was ready to go. Like the main character in a ghost story he stood and took several unsure steps before setting off on unsteady feet weaving between busy medics who ignored him. Touching a bed here, a cart there until he was sure of his balance he made as straight a line as possible. No one tried stopping him, it was as though no one saw him moving to and out the door.

It took only a moment to get his bearings. Fortunately, or not, he wasn’t a stranger to the CSH. Going left would take him toward surgery where he knew Hannibal would be. A short walk along a second hallway and he was there with a view of Hannibal down the line speaking with a man in scrubs, presumably a doctor.

Face was most of the way to the men when the presumed doctor clasped Hannibal’s arm saying a few words which were cut off when he noted Face’s approach. Ready to assist the walking wounded making his way in their direction, Hannibal stopped him with a word. Scrubs turned and Hannibal was in front of him in only a few strides of those long legs. With a hand to Face’s back he guided him to a door marked ‘Water Closet.”

Light on, door closed Hannibal wrapped himself around his Lieutenant. Voice breaking on the words. “Oh God Face. What are we going to do without him?”

Arms holding tight, Face’s jaw vibrated in an uneasy rhythm, his chest collapsing from the weight of his guilt. No tears came to his eyes, they could only stare in shock as his Colonel sobbed in grief.

 

Dawn was on the horizon as Hannibal escorted the younger man back to his hospital bed and managed to keep the chastising to a minimum from the nurses and Dr. Lawrence, who had been on her way out, her shift over. He was able to convince her to give his LT a sedative to ensure he stayed put while getting the sleep he had been fighting. He sat with Face for half an hour until the young man finally succumbed to the drug’s effect before making his way back to his own tent.

 

“Welcome back to the world.”

Déjà vu all over again. The walls were white and a glance upward brought the American flag back into view. The butterfly had been replaced with tightly wadded gauze and a piece of paper tape. He was lying on his side and a shift in position brought new information. Not only were his abs sore, so were his ribs with a discomfort he usually welcomed. It was the kind he’d get when he changed up his workout, an acknowledgement the effort put in had an effect. This felt wrong, though. He was missing something.

The memory of waking in this same bed came to him. It was different this time. A toe wiggle was effortless, he no longer wore his boots and though otherwise still dressed a sheet had been laid over him.

“Do you need to relieve yourself, sir?” It was a female voice, all business. “Lieutenant sir, do you hear me?”

“Yeah....yeah I do have to go.”

“Would you like assistance to the restroom or would you prefer I get you a urinal?”

He was overwhelmed with the idea time had slipped out of rhythm. There was something badly out of place, but what wasn’t coming to h...

“Urinal or restroom, sir?” was asked more forcefully.

“Restroom.”

“Hey, Bill? Could you help the Lieutenant to the restroom please.”

“Yup, be right there.”

 _That’s not Bill. Doesn’t sound anything like him_ Face thought.

“Help you sit up Lieutenant? Here give me your hand.”

As Face was pulled upward his eyes remained fixed on “Bill.” With his legs now over the side he had to ask, “Is your name Bill too?”

“Yes, sir. If you prefer you can call me Corporal. Give me both hands, let’s see how you are on your feet.”

Returning to the bed the nurse who had been bedside when he woke made a beeline toward the two men. “How’s his mobility?”

“Good. Just needed a little walk, huh Lieutenant?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“How are you feeling, sir?” It was the nurse again.

“A little foggy.”

“That’s understandable. Think you want to lie down again? Still sleepy?”

“No. Can I go now?”

“As long as you’re up to it. Nothing else bothering you?”

“Just some muscle soreness.”

“That’s to be expected for what you’ve been through.”

A light switched on in Face’s head. “Bill. How’s Bill?”

“Sir? You sure you’re okay there?” Bill the orderly asked.

“Captain Stewart. Bill Stewart.”

“The officer you were brought in with?” the nurse asked.

“Yeah him. Where is he? How is he?”

“I’m sorry sir. I don’t have any information on him. Would you like me to see what I can find out?” Her demeanor was shifting from all business to something a bit softer.

“No. No, that’s okay. I can go, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

Orderly Bill had crouched down and had Face’s boots in hand. “Lift this foot, sir.”

Boots on and a TAN order of muscle relaxants in hand Face was directed to the out door. As soon as his palm touched the door he was hit with another sense of déjà vu. Outside the ward he automatically turned left. Following the corridor to where it ended in a T he looked left and was hit with a swoop of his stomach and the sensation of guilt in his chest. Hannibal wasn’t at the end of the hall and try as he might, he knew he wasn’t remembering a dream. Bill was dead.

The night air was cool and comfortable as he stepped into darkness. Still trying to put events in order he was forced to stretch out the timeline. He must have slept an entire day. A single thought overtook the rest with a sense of urgency _Find Hannibal_.

The first inclination he knew was wrong. Hannibal wouldn’t be in his tent. He headed in the opposite direction. Head down he acknowledged no one as he made his way to a particular section of perimeter fence. In the dusky light he just made out the shape of broad shoulders. Of course this is where he would come. This is where he and Bill would walk in circles, lean against the fencing, sit on the two large rocks that, though natural, felt as though they had been placed there for two soldiers to use during brainstorming sessions: Hannibal and Bill.

Within a few yards of his Colonel, Face unconsciously patted at pockets looking for a cigar that wasn’t there.

Hannibal turned his head to the sound of footsteps approaching. He knew it was his LT before he could focus on the outline coming his way. Face had an unmistakable gait. He felt vaguely unsettled as he noted the daylight had turned to shadows unnoticed around him.

Face sat beside him, back leaning against Bill’s customary rock. “How are you feeling, kid? Were you discharged properly this time?”

“Yeah. They said I could go.”

The deep breath Hannibal let out reminded Face of a balloon slowly deflating.

“Thank you, Face. Thank you.”

“Hannibal. I’m...”

“Shhh don’t say anything, kid. Okay? Just... Don’t say anything.”

Face’s arm went around to pull him in. Hannibal went easily. They sat for an hour, maybe more, doubtful it was less. Hannibal holding tight around Face’s waist. Face holding tight around Hannibal’s shoulders, petting his hair and occasionally dropping his cheek to the top of his Colonel’s head, desperately trying to absorb the Colonel’s sorrow, a modern day sin eating.

The following morning Face was surprised to find he’d slept through the night. His eyes opened to Hannibal sitting on the other side of their group tent, back to Bill’s bunk, sipping coffee.

At the sound of Face’s change in breathing and shifting on his cot Hannibal spoke, “Get dressed, kid. Russ wants to see us.”

“Okay.” Face grimaced and closed his eyes at the sharp pains that had morphed overnight from soreness the day before.

He hadn’t heard him approach, but when he opened his eyes Hannibal was standing before him, hands outstretched. One held a cup of coffee the other two pills. Face looked up, a question clear.

“Muscle relaxants. They gave them to you when you were discharged?”

“Yeah, they did. Thank you,” the LT said taking the pills with a sip of coffee.

Hannibal’s smile felt as forced as it looked. He briefly rested his fingertips on Face’s head, amongst the shorn hairs of his standard military cut.

 

Well practiced in condolences being the commander of actively engaged combat soldiers, Morrison’s words were on the mark, yet his delivery held such a sincere quality to it, both men took a measure of comfort there. When the loss became public and began trickling through the bases and posts there would be an outpouring seldom seen from the loss of a man, if not outright loved, at least unabashedly respected. This capsule of time between these three was a quiet moment. It was an inner circle gathering.

Though he had recited all findings and observations to one of the crew chiefs as they were transported back to their FOB, Face was still required to report to debriefing. Alone after dismissing the young officer, the two remaining men individually contemplated the massive hole felt behind by the death of the soldier who had been by Hannibal’s side for the previous nine years.

Russ pulled open a lower drawer of his desk. Setting a single glass out he poured two fingers of Macallan 18 into a rocks glass. “I’ve got a full day ahead,” he said as an apology for not joining in as he leaned forward offering the glass to a reluctant Hannibal. “Go ahead. You know what they say. ‘It’s five-o’clock somewhere.’”

Hannibal pushed down the urge to down the expensive elixir as a single shot, but still consumed half of it in one go as Russ spoke again, “Go pack, my friend. You and your boy are going home.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“I say it is. Drink up.”

 

Hannibal saw the wisdom in Morrison’s decision to ship he and Face home. They had spent the day preparing to travel and avoiding interaction with people on base. The few heartfelt goodbyes and condolences they were the recipients of even at 05:00 hrs the following morning, though earnest, were enough without a base full of sad faced well wishers to smile through. Neither of them were inclined to smile.

Though unproductive the mens’ thoughts provided enough distraction to make the trip first to Germany then home to Atlanta relatively short. They walked side by side up the sky bridge. Taking a right at the end, Hannibal dropped a hand to Face’s back, guiding him toward the the baggage carousels. They took the Army transport from Atlanta back to base. Hannibal slipped the driver a roll of bills to drop them three blocks from Hannibal’s suburban house neatly located not far off the return route to the airport.

Inside the house they opened shades and doors letting light and fresh air in. Hannibal always did a walkthrough of the property, ensuring no calamities befell it requiring immediate attention. Bumping into the LT he opened the garage door to see his and Face’s cars parked side by side. “Do you need to go?” He asked looking at the two autos.

“No.”

Hannibal nodded then closed the door. He followed Face exiting the kitchen to where they had dropped their ruck sacks. “After you,” Hannibal offered as they approached the staircase.

Later as evening inched it’s way onto the patio Hannibal said, “We should eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Neither am I.” He stood with effort to go in the sliding doors, returning a few moments later with two more bottles of beer.

“Thanks,” Face mumbled.

The past two hours had gone by in silence. Hannibal dwelling on his thoughts of loss, Face drowning in his guilt.

“Boss?”

“Yeah kid.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“What on earth for?”

“For not bringing him home safe.” The tears breached, but he wouldn’t avert his gaze from the man across the table from him, remembering Bill’s advice on gaining Hannibal’s respect, “Always man up.” Watching the change in Hannibal’s expression didn’t prepare him for the outburst.

“No Face! Don’t do that!” Hannibal stood to pace. “You don’t get to be the bad guy!”

“Then who is?! You?!” Face was on his feet now too.

“The man who shot him!”

“He’s not here!”

Hannibal’s head dropped. He set his beer on the table, stepping in to take the kid in his arms. “I know, kid. I know.”

 

******

 

Standing together amongst the headstones of a quiet and intimate churchyard cemetery in Connecticut, Hannibal heard Face take a quavering breath. Bumping shoulders with the younger man he leaned in to maintain contact. It wasn’t only for Face. Hannibal wasn’t too proud to admit to himself they both need the taction. Merging the fine threads of what was left of their courage they pressed together, each gathering wisps of strength from the other.

A Mercedes sedan had been assigned to the two of them for the procession from the graveside service to a large home situated on a small, quintessential New England estate. They both knew Bill had come from wealth, but never had an appreciation for the extent of it. Ushered into the home they both were at once struck by a sense of Yankee practicality even within the massive house.

They didn’t stand alone for long in the formal parlor before an elderly woman approached on the Colonel’s side. One had no doubts this woman has been a beauty all her life. The crinkled skin of her face draped neatly along sculpted planes. Her dress, though straightforward and black exuded a tony, yet understated elegance. The Colonel noted the cotton lace and tissue linen handkerchief tucked in her sleeve at the wrist when he took the offered hand. “You can only be Hannibal. Our Bill spoke so often of you I feel we’ve already met.”

“Yes I am and my condolences ma’am. This has been a terrible, terrible loss. I must apologize though, I don’t know who you are.”

“I’m Bill’s grandmother Dorothy Stewart.”

“Oh yes. Of course. This must be very difficult for you.”

“And you as well I would imagine.” She paused looking at her waif-like hand lost within Hannibal’s own. “From the time the child had a forward looking thought all he ever wanted was to join the Army. It was the appeal of adventure I think. To live the stories he played out with his grandfather’s toy Army. It’s a beautiful tin set. Brightly colored. A Revolutionary War set.

“But as he grew he understood the good soldiers do. Some young men are called to serve the church. Bill was called to serve his country.”

“Yes ma’am. I know of only a handful of men with his dedication.”

“He so looked up to you.” She looked at him thoughtfully. “You know we raised him, his grandfather and I.”

“No, ma’am. I did not know that.”

“His parents were killed in a road accident. His grandfather and I took him. Only eleven. Such a young age to have to deal with a tragedy like that. We were all lucky to have one another.”

“I knew his parents had passed, but I had no idea the circumstances.”

“There were many men and women in uniform at the services.”

“Yes there were. Bill was well loved and well respected. His life and work left a lasting mark and his passing has left a void.”

“Had I known I would have arranged for them all to come to the house. I simply had no idea.”

“I think they understand, ma’am.”

“At first I was surprised he had chosen to be buried here, at home. The few times I allowed myself to think of the possibility of...” Her grip firmed. “Well. I thought he would want Arlington. I have to admit, I had no idea he purchased the plot. But it somehow doesn’t surprise me he chose to be with his parents.”

There was nothing to say in response and she understood. She again squeezed his hand firmly before retracting her own.

“And you must be Face,” she said offering her hand to the Lieutenant.

“Yes ma’am. My condolences to you.”

“I’ve heard plenty about you too.” She was looking straight into those bright blue eyes, slightly reddened from the emotion of the day. “I was hoping I could have a word with you today. Do you know how much respect he had for you?”

Face tensed, guilt and grief flowing over him. He couldn’t answer though he wanted to tell her the admiration was mutual. Her next words threw him.

“Thank you, Face. Thank you for bringing our boy back to us. Not just to me, but to his entire family and his friends. We’ll never be able to properly show you our gratitude.”

A tear wandered down Face’s cheek.

“But I didn’t...”

“Yes you did and we’ll all remember what you did for him and for us.” Something changed in her eyes. “I was told thanks to your mission close to seven thousand people were safely evacuated from northern Iraq. That’s what you need to take away. That you brought back the information of where Hussein’s troops were... and that you brought him home.”

Seeing he was losing the battle to keep himself together, Dorothy placed a hand along his jaw. “We’re all missing him. I know how heartbroken you are. I know exactly how it feels.” Taking her hands back she looked down and shook her head saying, “This whole thing is just so fucking awful.”

Barely turning their heads, Face and Hannibal looked at each other out of the corners of their eyes. Both silently feeling a warmth toward this woman who raised their friend.

“Granny. There you are.” A young woman came alongside Dorothy.

Dorothy’s eyes closed and her jaw tightened. Without looking at the intruder she ground out, “How many times have I told you not to call me that?”

“I’ve always called you that,” she said with an indulgent smile.

“And I’ve always hated it.” Then to the men, “Gentleman, Vanessa. Bill’s cousin. Vanessa, this is Lt. Colonel Smith and Lieutenant Peck. The gentlemen Bill told us so much about.”

“Nice to meet both of you. I’m so sorry it isn’t under better citcumstances.” Before either could reply she gave Face an extra look and smile. “If you’ll excuse us. Granny tires easily and needs to sit down.”

“Honestly, Vanessa. Call me that one more time and I’m writing you out. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Grandmother.” Looking to Face alone she added, “Bill was Gran...Grandmother’s favorite. This is very draining for her.”

“Perhaps he was my favorite because he didn’t treat me like a feeble and senile old woman who wasn’t within earshot. Just because my Bill is gone I’ll not live out the rest of my life being treated as one.” Her voice was just loud enough for the people around them to stop talking.

“Yes Grandmother. I’ll keep that in mind and try hard not to do that. Now let’s go sit.”

“Oh leave me alone, Vanessa. Bobby Garner is over there with his family.” To Hannibal and Face she said, “I’m so pleased you were able to attend this gathering. I didn’t know if you would be able to when I sent your invitations. We have a room available if you would like to spend the night. Thank you so much for everything, gentlemen. Thank you for taking such good care of our boy. And please go see the army figurines. They’re on a shelf right over there,” she pointed out with her chin. Pulling herself back together, her smile was grim as she said, “I need to go talk to Bobby. He and his wife went to high school with Bill.”

  

******

 

A numbness had settled over Hannibal like a cloak. Moving through the days on autopilot he felt disjointed, uncomfortable in his own skin. He knew he had to shake off this funk that had descended on him, if not for himself for Face. He worried he wasn’t bolstering the deeply insecure younger man enough. Well aware he needed to not only fill in the space left empty by their Captain’s passing, but also to pound into his head the guilt he was living with was far off the mark.

Unfortunately knowing and doing were two different things. Thinking himself selfish he would also excuse himself thinking he simply hadn’t been prepared for the situation. Perhaps Face needed someone older, someone more experienced. He felt inadequate, which always moved his thoughts from Face to Andy.

It wasn’t anything he did by design, but the result was still the same. In the end he felt he had failed Andy and now he was failing Face. The kid was keeping himself busy at the range, but when asked if he would consider finding a new spotter he only replied he wasn’t ready to think about it. He had become withdrawn, was losing some of that smartass edge he’d developed in response to his friendship with Bill.

Someone wiser than himself would know the right words. Someone more mature would be able to separate himself enough to look at the whole picture. Face needed someone who would be able to guide him through this maze of self recrimination to acceptance of the loss for what it is, a blow to both of them, but not the responsibility of either.

The sadness and hurt of his LT wasn’t the only thing weighing on him. His own bout with guilt was amping up. Soon it would be the tenth anniversary of his departure from Washington and Fort Lewis. On one level he knew it was right to move on, but to put it bluntly, he didn’t want to. There was a comfort in holding the past near. When he could feel it slipping away he would take hold of the rope, and hand over hand, pull it back where it belonged, an anchor heavy around his neck.

He knew by his own design his perpetually open wound would never heal, but he could at least try to still the pain. He had left the base an hour earlier and been running errands ever since from one side of town to the other when he saw a parking space open right smack dab in front of The Lantern Bar. It was a no-brainer to not let it go to waste.

He and Bill had stopped in the place from time to time, at least enough for when the dark interior surrounded him as the door closed the bartender, Justin waved saying, “Hey Hannibal. Bill’s not with you?”

“No. No Bill,” he said opening his wallet.

An old fashion was set in front of him. “Just the one or you wanna run a tab?”

“Let’s start with one,” the Colonel said handing over cash.

 

Face was slowly coming to terms with the words Hannibal had drilled into him. It wasn’t his fault. He replayed the encounter with Dorothy Stewart over and over in his head, how thankful she was. Then there were those moments before sleep overtook him at night when he could see Bill’s smiling face, warm and welcoming the first time they met. Or when he was laughing so hard at himself after failing to see a big red frisbee in the middle of the backyard while they practiced the KIM game. “How the hell did miss that?!” Face had asked, laughing too. “Guess I was too busy looking for the goddamn Scotch tape dispenser in the tree!” When Hannibal arrived just then neither could stop laughing long enough to form a complete sentence.

There was also the memory of Bill saying he was a hero and should be proud of himself.

But beyond the nighttime hours he kept the most important thing always within reach. It was now up to him to care for Hannibal. It was a charge he took seriously and went beyond this newfound cosmic connection that told him when to feed the man a cigar.

 

The tab had been started awhile back and the evening patrons were arriving. Hannibal took his drink with him to a table in the corner. He watched people enter, some single, some couples, and as time went on small groups. He watched as the cocktail waitress hurried through the burgeoning Friday night crowd. He couldn’t hear the words, but it was clear she had a story to tell Justin of why she was late. After tying her wait apron on Justin handed her a drink tray without comment.

He looked on a couple sitting at the bar chattering away. They weren’t “just friends” the touches between them told him that. They may have been new with no old stories yet to retell, or perhaps they were so established and comfortable with each other their discussions were unabashed. He decided that was the case when their conversation came to a halt and neither looked uncomfortable, still happy with their companion. He wondered if it would be like that again one day for him. Sure it was already like that with himself and Face, but that was different. They couldn’t become romantically involved.

The Jim Beam was insinuating itself into his thoughts and he floated back to Washington.

“I know I asked you this before, but I don’t think you ever gave me an answer. So I’ll ask again. What am I suppose to do without you?” When no answer was forthcoming he went on, “I’ve been on autopilot for so long, I don’t know how I’ve been functioning.” Looking up he grimaced, “Pffftt... Like I actually am functioning.” He spoke lowly, the rustling of ragtag leaves overhead vying to be heard above the broken timbre of his spoken word, “I miss you so much, Andy.”

He wondered at his forethought. He barely remembered leaving the house, much less grabbing a handful of tissues on his way out. Looking skyward did nothing to stop the breach, only sending it to the outer corner of his eyes. “Some days ... No. Most nights. It’s worse at night...when I don’t think I can keep going without you.”

Pressing the tissue to his eyes and wiping at his cheeks helped to ease the feeling of frost left by the once hot tears. He randomly thought he should be otherwise chilled in the February air. An aura of detachment from his surroundings compounded the surrealistic moments he spent in this same spot no matter the season.

“There’s something I have to tell you.” He took a breath to steady himself. “You remember Russ. I know you met a few times. He’s down in Georgia, at Benning.” He wanted to stop. He wanted for it to have been a mistake, but it wasn’t. “He’s requested me. Put in a formal request. I’m being reassigned down there.” He dropped his head. “I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave you here alone.”

The tears fell in earnest now.

He didn’t know how long he stood with eyes barely focused on the patterns of grass at his feet, mind flitting to a happier past. Back before it all turned to shit. When he and Andy were certain of their growing old together. Before the blue-eyed brunette had been struck down by a disease that effected people in their sixties, not a man barely past forty.

It had taken the doctors months to finally diagnose him. They couldn’t be blamed. At the time there had only been a handful of cases where the wasting disease had struck relatively young adults. Even then Andy didn’t fit alongside the three other cases. He hadn’t consumed venison in several years and had never eaten elk. And yet there he was with the ominously named Creutzfeldt–Jakob disease.

Hannibal knew far more about sCJD than he cared to know. The disease that would eventually rob Andy of a useful brain had first given a hint to its presence one evening over dinner. That night it had been warm enough for them to request a table outside to celebrate Andy’s forty-first birthday. Hannibal had reserved the seating at his lover’s favorite seafood restaurant.

John had never been one to appreciate wine. That however hadn’t stopped Andy from trying to educate him. It was customary upon the waiter’s arrival at the table for Andy to ask to see the premier wine list. Except “wine list” was escaping him.

Looking up at the waiter Andy’s mind had gone completely blank. He laughed it off with, “I’ve completely lost my train of thought. Have you ever had someone you know come up to you and you can’t remember their name?” He laughed in embarrassment then looked to his partner. “Help me out here, John.”

“You were just gushing over the Red Zinfandel you had last time we were here. Did you want to order that?”

Andy had no clue. It seemed wrong. In his mind’s eye an image repeatedly flashed of a small book bound in leather. He searched for the name of the object but was coming up with nothing. It wasn’t even on the proverbial tip of his tongue. It simply wasn’t there.

“You feeling alright, Andy?”

“Hmm?” It came to him he had been staring off, not registering the waiter, John, or their fellow diners at tables of their own, searching his memory banks for a hint.

“Are you feeling okay? Should we skip dinner?”

“No! Of course not, I’m just a little tripped up, that’s all.” He smiled weakly at their server. “A glass of the Zinfandel would be perfect.” He had put on his game face, smiling across to Hannibal.

“Which Zinfandel were you thinking of, Sir? We have several”

“Uhh. I don’t know.”

Hannibal was leery but came to the rescue. “May we see your wine list?”

“Of course,” the waiter responded graciously before moving off.

 _Wine list. Wine list?_ How had he not been able to summon the name?

“We can do this another night if you’re not up to it,” Hannibal offered again.

“No. No. I’ve been looking forward to this all day. Just experienced a little short circuit, that’s all.”

It had only been the beginning of the disease manifesting itself. It had rattled Andy. Rattled him enough for Hannibal to take note. That night as they made love John couldn’t help noticing there was a desperation to his man.

As Andy lay on his back he had clung to Hannibal, a disturbing feeling of loss coming over him. A thought swaying along the boundary of his conscious and unconscious, he was going to lose this. He was going to lose John.

In the end Hannibal remained by his partner’s side and it was Hannibal who lost Andy to a disease that swallowed his very being. The body that died that raining afternoon no longer housed Andy. The man who was a frighteningly intelligent economic advisor holding contracts with both the US Army and the US Air Force and destined one day to hold a cabinet post if not be seated in the chair held most recently by Paul Volcker and Alan Greenspan was gone. The man who was as fiercely independent as Hannibal and who, like Hannibal, couldn’t imagine life without his love was spared the knowledge he was leaving a fractured and desolate lover to carry on minus the plans the two shared. Their hopes for the future forever scattered and abandoned.

Didn’t matter how far back it happened, Hannibal just couldn’t let go.

 

There was something grounding for Face as he applied himself to caring for the boss. He did his best to focus. Without Bill most of the goofiness in his life was gone. He missed it and wondered if he would have another grand friendship like the one they had shared. He played with people at the range, but remained stoic around the boss, ever mindful how long he and Bill had been together and how much deeper the loss had been for him. Face would reframe the relationship he had with his Colonel.

Hannibal had once told him he didn’t know how to be the older partner in a relationship. Unfortunately Face didn’t have a clear concept of healthy roles from his own, so he would have to wing it, but it wouldn’t stop him from choosing a role and staying with it. What he decided on may not be what he’d had in mind the night of his party, but he was willing to work with it, make it something the boss needed. Certainly not on missions or other aspects of their work, but here, at home, he could adult for them. How hard could it be?

He’d already begun in earnest a week or so prior when he walked in the living room by way of the kitchen, having parked his car in the garage. Hannibal was there looking for all the world like a sulking teenager. Phone to ear, hand high on the frame of the sliders to the backyard, weight on one foot, hip kicked out, fingers drumming, he didn’t turn when Face entered behind him.

“Something wrong, Boss?”

“Yes there’s something wrong,” but didn’t elaborate further.

“Something I can do to help?”

“No,” he snapped. “Not unless you know how to make the cable come back on!”

“Cable’s out, huh?”

“Isn’t that what I just said?!”

Face didn’t understand this Hannibal at first, but he got it now. Hannibal was a mighty warrior, a legend within the military. Not just the Army either. He was a well known figure throughout the Navy, the Marines, the Air Force. Hell, even the Coast Guard knew their share of Hannibal lore. Strategic, ingenious, brave, cool under pressure and more so the hotter it got. Let him loose on the enemy and he was downright dangerous. But present him with a domestic problem within his household and he was reduced to John Smith, the man who just couldn’t deal with day-to-day shit.

It was plain as day to Face. Hannibal was the great soldier he was because he looked into the details and it was exhausting. Sometimes his nit-picking over a plan seemed obsessive, that is until the plan backfired. Then it didn’t seem like too much thought had been put into it at all. Every time they ran into a glitch Hannibal was a smug smart-ass about it. Only a couple of his men ever knew the extent he was beating himself up inside.

He took the role of leader to heart, often fretting over his men’s wellbeing. He didn’t take his responsibility lightly. He commanded these men, no doubt, but he was also there for them in whatever they may need. He’d been a shoulder to lean on at the end of a love affair. He’d poured over pictures of the most recent new baby, wondering if there was something wrong with him for thinking all babies looked remarkably like Dwight Eisenhower. He’d happily attended weddings and forced himself to attend funerals. He’d stayed with the Bower kid, holding his hand, petting his head, when on his very first mission with the team had his leg blown off by an IED. He’d taken Hector Sanchez out for beers and to listen to stories about Betty, the family dog, after his mother called to say his constant companion for twelve years was put down and buried in a place of honor in the backyard.

He did all these things without question. There was more to being a CO than just barking orders. He took pride in being the man they could all count on. Without question he was always the adult in the room. Except when he got home.

Many soldiers relish the freedom of downtime in that they could call the shots, not have to take orders from their CO who had done the thinking for them. It was their turn to shoulder the responsibility. Not Hannibal. No, when he got home he was no Great Santini. He didn’t want to be responsible for running a household.

Face had originally witnessed it that one early morning. Hannibal had brought Bill and Face home with him after the flight back from Peru. Face had stumbled into the kitchen the following morning as though drawn in by a homing beacon that smelled suspiciously like fresh ground Starbucks Italian roast only to find Hannibal “having words” with the toaster.

“Problem?”

“Does it look like there’s a problem?”

“Kinda.”

“Well if it looks like there’s one,“ Hannibal said sweetly, “...then there probably is one!” he barked out.

“Woah! Woah! Put that down!” Face said, so alarmed he dropped his coffee mug and the coffeemaker’s carafe to the counter. He had only taken one step toward Hannibal, but it was too late. He could almost feel the jolt himself as he watched the boss recoil, dropping the butter knife he had stabbed into the appliance to the floor.

“Jeezus! Are you okay?”

But Hannibal hadn’t heard the LT, being otherwise occupied shouting at the object of distain, claiming it was a bitch.

“Haven’t you ever heard you shouldn’t stick a knife in a toaster?”

“Thought that was just for the old ones.”

“Obviously it’s just as true today and you should pay attention. You know, like those ‘Slippery When Wet’ signs out on the road,” he said reaching around his Colonel to yank the cord from the wall.

Hannibal mumbled, “You bitch,” at his deceptively astute opponent.

“Let me see,” Face said sliding the toaster in front of him. Peering in he could see the remains of a bagel, well charred, within. “Gimme that knife.”

“Leave it. I’ll throw the whole damned thing away.” This quickly formulated plan didn’t stop him from retrieving the knife and handing it over. “The bitch.”

Face freed the blackened remains. Handing the knife back over and turning to attend to his slopped cup of coffee he said just loud enough to be heard, “Doesn’t need to be pitched. It was only trying to defend itself.”

Currently the boss didn’t look to be in any danger to himself or the household appliances. But as a highly trained U.S. Army Ranger, Face knew all that could change in the blink of an eye.

“I’ll take care of it. Why don’t you go mow the lawn or something.” Face knew it was just about the only chore the boss actually enjoyed, bouncing along on his riding mower on a summer day.

It took a little finagling, but Face managed to get his cell phone out to call the cable provider on it as well. With a phone to each ear he took up the Colonel’s position waiting on hold. It wasn’t long before Hannibal made his first drive-by to commence the back and forth pattern with Face waving at each pass.

 

There he was kicked back, socked feet on the coffee table, sipping Coke while watching tennis when the phone rang.

“Hello.”

“Bill?”

“No.” Face had to consciously stop himself from saying, “He’s dead.” Instead he got his wits back about himself and said, “No, this is Face. Help you with something?”

“Not sure I got the right number,” the voice on the other end shouted. There was abundant background noise the caller was trying to talk over. Face had to hold the handset away from his ear.

“Who you looking for?”

“Is this Hannibal Smith’s place?”

“It is, but he’s not here.”

“Yeah, I know. He’s here.”

Face was fully tuned in now. “Who is this? Is there a problem?”

“This is Justin at The Lantern. Hannibal’s here, but he could really use a ride home.”

 _Shit_. Face was on his feet looking for shoes. “Is he causing trouble?”

“No nothing like that. Look I thought I might get hold of Bill. I can call him a cab.”

“No. No, don’t. I’m on my way.”

 

“Hey! You Justin?”

“That’s me. What can I getcha?”

“I’m here for Hannibal. Where is he?”

“Oh! You got here fast. He’s in that far booth.”

Face pulled out his wallet. “What does he owe ya?”

“On the house. We all like him around here. Just get him home safe.”

“Is there someplace I can move his car for the night?”

“Sure. Put it in the back lot. No one will bother it there.”

Face rapped his knuckles on the bar and shouted a thanks.

“Face! What are you doing here?”

“Came for you Boss”

“Really?”

“Really.” Face smiled at him.

“Get yourself a drink.”

“No thanks Boss.”

“You just gonna sit there watching me drink? Might as well go home.”

“I think you’re right. I don’t need to order. We should get going. Just be a waste of money at this point.” Standing from the table hoping the con would work he added with conviction “That’s why you’re the boss. The brains of this operation.”

“Yep! That’s why I’m the boss alright,” Hannibal concurred as he stood from his chair. With the first wobble Face was beside him.

In the car Hannibal was confused. “I thought we had my car.”

“I brought your extra keys so I could move it. The bartender said it was alright to leave in the private lot behind the bar for the night.”

“Good thinkin’,” he threw in reaching for the radio.

Their favorite station was in the midst of a series of commercials and Hannibal turned it back off. “Was hoping for some good tunes. Hey, do you know the best line ever written in a song?”

“Don’t know if I do or not.”

“I’ll tell you.”

“Yeah? What’s that Boss.”

“Me and Bobbie McGee.”

“That old Janis Joplin song?”

“Fuck that! Janis Joplin just covered that song. You want to hear it the way it was meant to be, listen to Krisisoffer. Krisoffer. Krisisofferson.”

“Kris Kristofferson?”

“Yeah him.”

“I didn’t know he sang it too.”

“Sang what?”

Face couldn’t help smiling a little. The conversation was going nowhere, but it was keeping the boss occupied. “You were talking about Kris Kristofferson singing Me and Bobbie McGee.”

“He wrote it.”

This was news to Face. “I didn’t know that.”

“You know that song has the best line ever written.”

“So I’ve heard,” he played along. “What line is that, Boss?”

Hannibal began singing much to Face’s surprise with a voice that should have been on the stage, “Well I’d trade all of my tomorrows for a single yesterday, holding Andy’s body next to mine.”

“Isn’t it ‘...holding _Bobbie’s_ body next to mine’?”

“Yeah. I guess you’re right.” Hannibal’s attention moved to the view of houses moving past, disappearing into the night behind them.

They were silent for a long while until Face flipped his blinker to take a left and Hannibal figured out where they were. “We’re going home?”

Face crossed his fingers hoping his ploy would work a second time, “Yeah, Boss. You’re right. Been out long enough. We really should get home.”

“Did I say that?”

“Uh...You didn’t say exactly that.”

“We need to go home.”

“I agree.”

Only another minute or two passed as they wound their way to Hannibal’s house.

“Here we are.”

The boss didn’t argue or resist Face standing nearby while he used the toilet and rinsed with mouthwash he was handed when the tube of toothpaste proved too daunting to even contemplate.

“Mouthwash works.”

“That it does, Boss.”

Hannibal spoke to him in the mirror, “When did you get so smart, kid?”

“A very smart man once told me, ‘Even soldiers can use a hand now and again.’ Come on, Boss. Let’s get you to bed.”

Stripped down to his skivvies and in bed Hannibal watched as Face picked his clothes up from the floor. When his LT went to turn off the bedside lamp Hannibal spoke. “Come to me, Face.”

“No. Not like this.”

“I thought you wanted me.”

“I do. You have no idea how much I do. But you’ll regret it in the morning and I couldn’t handle being one of your regrets.”

“You remind me of him”

“Who’s that, Boss?”

“My Andy. He was good. Just like you.”

“You loved him didn’t you?”

“Still do.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured.” Hannibal’s eyes had slid closed. Face ran his fingers through the increasingly grey hair. “Maybe you could tell me about him sometime.”

“Mm hmm...”


	12. Chapter 12

Hannibal woke to a head pounding a synchronized beat with his heart. Cottonmouth and a wave of nausea reminded him he may have had just a little too much to drink. Feet over the edge of the bed dared him to attempt to stand. He may have just swung them back where they had been unable to cause him damage and curl around a pillow if it weren’t for the desperate need to get to the bathroom.

Why he bothered checking in the mirror he didn’t know. Nothing there he wasn’t expecting, though the visage may have been a skoach less frightening than anticipated. Brushing his teeth turned into a balancing act, carefully inching the brush to the farthest molars while trying to avoid any contact with his soft palate and the certainty of gagging. His hand trembled along its path to deposit the brush back into its holder. A chill shuddered through him. Though springtime in Georgia, he could swear he was back in the cool dampness of Washington’s oceanside air. This however wasn’t the star of the musings his brain was freewheeling through.

Unable to bring his thoughts to a consensus he tried to wipe them all away, yet one debate he conducted with himself dragged on as he leaned with both hands on the sink. In his current condition any form of exertion could be his downfall and lead up to a very real possibility of literally falling down. There was an unpleasant waft of air flitting around him and he could only conclude it was himself. The chill he felt was amping up the trembling which had migrated from only his hands all the way to his knees. He considered it may not be an effect from the cool temperature hitting his skin barely covered by a T-shirt and boxer briefs.

The time he spent deliberating over the decision was longer than the act itself would have taken. Coming back to join those alive he understood was not necessarily on the same plane as those who were fully awake and functioning. He felt himself slipping once more into ruminations that were doing nothing more than postponing the inevitable. At last the decision was made and he reached into the shower to open the faucet full bore. Shivering from removing his T-shirt, he congratulated himself on a sound choice made. The heat of the water would return him to a productive member of society, whereas postponing it would reduce the triumph of the act.

Hair brushed, towel around his waist, he opted out of shaving and instead stepped back into his bedroom. Any chance of him again cooling off to a chill was out of the question when he felt his heart warm at the sight of a still steaming mug of coffee set on a plate alongside two triangles of dry toast points. He smiled to himself, Face was up.

 _Face, Face, Face._ What about Face? He had entered The Lantern alone, after that things became more and murky. Yet still, somewhere along the line Face had joined him. He could see the kid sitting across from him, though the memory was fleeting. He could picture him driving the two of them home. Then somewhere in the mix were flashes of him close, Face’s fingers carding through his hair. He couldn’t reconcile if it happened or if he only dreamt Face lying beside him, soothing him, bestowing on him feelings of utter peace and safety. He realized it was unlikely Face had joined him in bed, but the sensation of fingers along his scalp remained. Sitting at the foot of his now made bed he sipped coffee and munched toast. With the last crumb dispatched he dressed and made his way downstairs, the mug in one hand, the plate in the other, with only the mug willing to accept refills.

On the kitchen counter six eggs huddled in an improvised corral of dish towel beside bacon striping a paper towel covered plate. A bag of English muffins sat beside the toaster waiting to do their part in this weekend breakfast.

Hannibal had just closed the dishwasher door and was making his way to the coffeemaker when Face rounded the corner.

“Oh ... G’mornin’, Boss. Ready for breakfast?”

“Have you eaten?” he asked, not wanting Face to go to extra lengths for him.

“Nope. Been waiting for you. Or did you really think I was going to feed you six eggs?” he said huffing a laugh. The stove clicked under the frying pan until it finally ignited the gas. Turning back to Hannibal once more he cocked a brow. “What ‘a ya say?”

Hannibal smiled at the simple thoughtfulness. “Yeah, that would be great.”

Sitting across from each other in the kitchen it was quiet aside from the initial yummy noises the boss made at his delight in the crispy bacon.

“We need to go into town to get your Suburban,” Face noted after a sip of coffee.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Brows gathered, the kid may as well have told him they were scheduled to be in a parade.

“I picked you up last night. We left your car behind The Lantern.”

“You’re kidding. It must have been towed by now.”

“No. The bartender, Justin, he said no one would bother it.” He stood with his plate. Rinsing it with hot water he added, “We should thank him. That was nice of him.” Hannibal was surprised to see Face’s hand light on his plate. “Done?”

“Yeah. Thanks Face.” Downing the rest of his coffee he brushed the helpful hand away when it reappeared presumably to dispatch his coffee mug. “Gonna have a little more.” Before he could gather himself to stand the hand was back this time gripping the handle of the coffeemaker carafe. His mug was neatly refilled as he heard himself mumble a thank you. He watched as Face’s shoulder muscles worked under the fabric of his shirt and his graceful hands finished putting dishes and utensils in the dishwasher before wiping up the water splashed to the countertops.

Landing on a plan, one with an element of danger, he set it in motion. “You know I dreamt we were deployed on an overnight. It was cold and we had to huddle to keep warm.” He chuckled a little as he continued, “Was a little surprised you weren’t in bed with me this morning.”

Face’s loose demeanor froze. He visibly stiffened. The towel he’d been using to dry his hands continued to sway after the sudden stop of motion. When Hannibal didn’t continue, didn’t add he’d wished it was only partly a dream, Face set back to folding the towel to hang on the oven door. “Don’t know where that came from. I slept soundly in my own bed last night.” His stature recovered, he asked without looking at his Colonel, “Ready to go get the Suburban or you need some more time.”

“So you came to pick me up? That it, kid?”

“Yep. Justin called to say you could use a ride. So that’s what I did.”

“Tell ya what. How about we leave it there for the day. I’ll call to say we’ll get it later. We’ll get it when I take you out for dinner.” No response. “To say thank you. We’ll go somewhere nice. Not just a burger or wings.”

Face’s eyes dropped to the floor. “Sorry, Boss. Can’t tonight. I have a date.”

“Oh, okay. It was just a thought. Maybe another time.” Well the danger was real, the danger of rejection.

“Sure.” Face looked around, anywhere but where Hannibal was sitting.

“Let’s go get the car.”

“Okay.” Face grabbed his keys from a bowl on the counter and made straight for the garage door.

With Face driving Hannibal asked, “So your date. Someone new?”

“Kind of. Remember that Specialist Dave brought to my welcome home party you threw a couple years back?”

“Not really.”

“She was a journalist then, but she’s transferred into MP training.”

“Pretty?”

“Very.”

“I think I know who you’re talking about. Thought Dave said she moved on.”

“She did, but she’s here for a few days. She said she has interviews here.”

“How did you meet up with her?”

“It was funny. She was at the Publix yesterday when I went. What were the chances.”

Hannibal remembered the woman now. There was something about her that set off warning bells for him. Something about her seemed very one tracked, very calculating. He had a thought flit by. He too wondered what were the chances.

“Well there it is. Safe and sound,” Face said eyes on the vehicle, not daring to turn his head to catch the Colonel’s own.

Unbuckling his seat belt the boss said, “Thank you again Face. For this. For last night.”

“Boss if I had...” He’d almost said if he had known he wouldn’t have made the date, but instead, “If I didn’t have a date I would love to go out for a nice dinner with you,” came out instead.

Hannibal said nothing, only smiled and nodded before climbing out of the car.

Face watched him stroll to his SUV, long legs striding, broad shoulders topping the V-shaped back which pointed to a tight and well rounded ass, topping off those long le...” He caught himself staring when Hannibal reached the driver’s door and turned to wave. Face almost put it in reverse without reciprocating with the minimum of lifting his fingers from the wheel.

 

It was 18:34 according to his watch and he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the boss since he dropped him off. He began to wonder if Hannibal was on another bender when the phone rang.

“Hello?” Hopeful.

“Hi Face,” came the woman’s voice.

“Oh. Hi Charissa,” he answered, wondering if his disappointment in who was on the line came through in his voice.

“Face, I’m just getting out of this meeting.”

“If you’re tired, I understand.”

“Nothing like that,” she said, bringing a mixed emotion of anticipation of seeing her and perhaps a bit of disappointment at not being free to go look for his Colonel. “I just wanted you to know I’d be running late, but if you’ll go take care of our seating, I’ll be able to join you shortly afterward. That alright?”

“Sure. Sure. Of course. I’ll see you in an hour or so?”

“Yes. See you then.”

Already mostly dressed, the only things he was missing were his shoes and suit jacket. He took his time and anxiously pushed aside the curtain on the front window, thinking for some unknown reason Hannibal’s car maybe parked out front. It of course wasn’t.

He found himself pacing, telling himself he was just excited to see the lovely Lieutenant over dinner. He took two steps at a time to go to the upstairs bathroom one more time, loading his toothbrush for a quick once over. Staring at the sink drain his mind’s eye took him to a dinner table. Raising his own from the menu he was met by clear blue eyes, crinkling happily at the corners. The face that met him in the mirror when he focused back in again was his own. He wiped his mouth, ran fingers through his hair and tugged at his shirt collar.

With jacket in hand he stepped into the garage and was disappointed again not to see Hannibal’s car there, nor pulling in after raising the electric door. He told himself to snap out of it. He was on his way to meet a beautiful and intelligent woman. Backed out of the garage he double-checked he had his jacket and wallet. As the door lowered in front of him he allowed one last thought, I should have cancelled and gone with Hannibal.

 

Face sat at the patio table, long legs extended out, sock covered feet crossed at the ankles. At the sound of footsteps approaching and stopping close by he said, “‘Morning, Boss.”

“Good morning. Wasn’t expecting you here.”

“Why‘s that?”

The Colonel looked at his watch. “It’s only a little after 08:00. Didn’t think you’d be home so early.”

“You mean up so early?”

“Wasn’t expecting you to come home until later. When’d you get in?”

“It was before midnight.” Well before. He hedged before adding, “Didn’t think you’d be out all night.”

“Neither did I.”

“Have fun?”

“Yeah. I did. We had a nice time. How was your date?”

“Good.” He felt like he was talking to a stranger, not wanting to show his cards.

“I need to get in the shower,” Hannibal said. “Today is that picnic thing on base. I’m supposed to judge the dog costumes in a couple of hours. There any coffee?”

“In the pot.”

Hannibal scratched at his beard. “I better get to it. Need coffee, a shower and shave.”

“Yeah. Sure.” But the boss was already through the door. Face looked down into his coffee. He was feeling unsettled, not particularly pleased Hannibal had spent the whole night out. His comment, “...we had a nice time,” stuck in his craw. Who had he been out with? His usual cohort, Russ, was still overseas. But it wasn’t something he would ask. Instead he sipped his coffee and tried to keep his thoughts of his own companion from the night before. Wondering if she was as disappointed as she looked when he said he needed to be going. He knew she would be leaving the next afternoon, but hadn’t asked if she was busy this day. Maybe he would call her a little later.

His thoughts carried him through long enough for Hannibal to return saying he was leaving. He’d probably be all day. Face found himself feeling a little put out when he wasn’t invited to join his Colonel.

Hannibal had left his SUV in the driveway, knowing he would need to make it a quick turnaround. He couldn’t have been more surprised to find Face there. He was certain the kid would spend the night out, making a morning entrance much later than his own.

If in his mind there was the possibility Face would have arrived back at the house he never would have taken up the lovely Carol’s offer of a comfortable bed and some equally comforting company. It was the right choice, he told himself. Face hadn’t even brought up joining him for the festivities on base. Hannibal thought he would have had fun at this silly judging contest. How the hell had he been wrangled into it anyway.

 

****

 

Shortly after naming Carlyle the Basset Hound dressed as a gunfighter, complete with cowboy hat, six-shooters and silver painted cardboard spurs the winner, Hannibal received a text to report for a meeting with General Bryant of U.S. Army Europe and Colonel Reese of USACIDC, the Army’s criminal investigation command at 10:00 hours, Monday morning.

The results of the meeting the next morning produced serious emotional upheaval for Hannibal, yet he knew they couldn’t continue floating. It was time to move on, though he’d have preferred not like this. He and Face were being separated, at least temporarily. He himself had a deep need to be near Face and worried how the kid would take this news.

There was no easy alternative coming to mind and he dreaded having the kid out of his sight. It was bad enough losing Bill right under his nose, but what was planned for himself and Face put them on opposite sides of the planet. Just how the hell was he going to keep an eye on him? It was different than Face’s return trip to Peru. He wouldn’t be safely in the hands of someone Hannibal knew and trusted. He’d essentially be on his own.

He tried telling himself the trust and confidence in each of them was noteworthy. For himself it was a natural post for a man of his rank. For Face it was affirmation his work as an individual was recognized and wasn’t only seen in the shadow of Hannibal himself. Unfortunately, no matter how many times he told himself it seemed to have less and less effect on his nerves.

Stepping out of the conference room he wasn’t at all prepared for what he had no doubt to be ambush. Met by a face he hadn’t expected he wasn’t sure his audible sigh of exasperation was deliberate or not. Nonetheless, Lt. Sosa was not a welcome sight when he opened the door.

“Good morning, Colonel, sir.”

“Lieutenant,” he replied returning her salute a little less enthusiastically than her own.

“I’m happy to have run into you.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“I thought I could get some advice from you.”

“Advice on ...?”

“On my future. How best to achieve my goals. When I heard you would be here this morning, I thought maybe I could get a bit of your time. You know, I feel I know so much about you. Not only are you well known throughout the service, Face, I mean Lt. Peck spoke so highly of you this weekend.”

“Did he?”

“I don’t know if you know we had a date Saturday night.”

“I’m aware.”

“Oh. Did you also know I’m leaving Fort Benning this afternoon.”

“The Lieutenant may have mentioned it. I’m sorry, but I’m a little confused as to why you think I can help you.”

“Knowing how much Face trusts you I thought ...” Hannibal couldn’t deny there was an allure there. “Perhaps you could join me for lunch before I leave,” she added with a smile.

What was this? Hannibal surveyed her for a moment. What was she up to? He was curious, but not enough to join Face’s evening date from two nights prior for a luncheon date on the spot. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I’m unable to join you. If you’ll excuse me, I need to be on my way.”

“Perhaps another time,” she said with a smile.

“Perhaps.” He held the door from the outer office to the hallway for her. She stepped through, turning, mouth open as though to speak. Hannibal cut her off. “Good day Lieutenant. I need to do one more thing before I leave.” He let go the self-closing door and went back to the secretarial desk. “Beth?”

“Yes sir,” Beth smiled up at him from around her computer.

“The Lieutenant that was just here, when did she arrive?”

“It was almost as soon as you went into the conference. She said it was important she speak with you. I told her you probably hadn’t started yet and I could ask you to come out for a minute. She said not to do that but asked if she could wait instead. I told her it could be a long wait, but she was welcome to have a seat. Was that a problem, sir?”

“No. Not at all.”

“Honestly after the first hour I was kind of expecting her to leave.”

“It’s fine, Beth. Just curious. Thank you.” Opening the door once again to the hallway he was half expecting the green-eyed beauty to still be standing there. He let out the breath he’d been holding to find the corridor empty.

First stopping for a couple of sandwiches, he made his way to the shooting range knowing Face would be there up until lunchtime. He wanted to give the kid a heads up rather than let him walk in cold to the afternoon conference scheduled with Colonel Reese.

“Why Germany?” was Face’s first and obvious question.

“They’re relieving a Colonel of his command due to lack of confidence. I’m going on the interim until they decide on a permanent replacement.”

“Damn. That’s not good. But hey, what a great opportunity for you.” Face was genuinely happy for him.

“Yes. It is. And there’s an equally great opportunity on the table for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll be meeting this afternoon with a Colonel from CIDC.”

“What? Wait, I’m not in trouble about something, am I?” The sandwich Hannibal had brought to him forgotten.

“No. Anything but. They have an assignment for you that frankly Kid, makes me damned proud of you.”

“Is this not with you?”

“No. It’s not.”

 _Who’s going to take care of you?_ was his immediate thought. “We’re separating?”

“Yes. For a time. But Face I want you to know I had nothing to do with this. It was a surprise to me.”

Face’s phone buzzed then. “Here’s the summons now. I’ve got an hour.”

“Finish up.” Hannibal motioned to the half eaten sandwich.

“Suppose you can’t tell me what it’s all about.”

“No. They only discussed it with me to get my opinion on if you were capable of handling it. Wanted me to give a reference. Told them it’s the perfect placement for you.”

 _No_. He thought. _My perfect placement is with you._


	13. Chapter 13

 

Hannibal returned the salute of Major Tom Wallace before extending his hand. Wallace looked perplexed by the offer which gave Hannibal a clue into what the situation was in which he’d been installed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Wallace.”

The Major took the offered hand despite his apprehension. “Thank you, sir. Pleasure meeting you too, Colonel.”

“Hannibal. Call me Hannibal.”

“Okay...Hannibal.”

“We’ll work on that. Have a seat...” Hannibal waited for Wallace to confirm how he preferred to be addressed.

“Tom. You’re welcome to call me Tom.”

“Great! Everyone call you Tom?”

“No one calls me Tom.”

“Excellent! For the time being I’d prefer no one else call me Hannibal. Go ahead. Have a seat. You smoke?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Oh thank God. I’ve been surrounded by non-smokers for years now. Think this is going to work well.”

 

*******

 

“Everyone calls me Face.”

“Nice to meet ya there, buddy. I’m Neil. Over there is Ryan. Sittin’ on his ass at the table is Sean, but you can call him Shirley. I do.”

“Hey! Fuck you man!”

The room erupted in laughter, with the notable exception of Shirley, aka Sean.

“That handsome duck in the corner is Mike.”

“Nice to meet all you.”

“Where you from Face?”

“Originally or just now?”

“How about both.”

“Born and raised in L.A., but I’m coming in here from Benning.”

“Benning?” Ryan sounded surprised. “You a Ranger or sumthin’?”

“That I am. Or at least I was. Honestly I don’t know if I am or not anymore.”

“You’re here as a firearms instructor, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Hey! I know you,” Ryan may as well have had a lightbulb blink on over his head. “Saw an article about you somewhere. You were down in South America, weren’t you? Some hotshot down there.”

“Yep. That was me. Down in Peru. I did a training program down there.”

“So now you’re here to show the rest of us how it’s done.”

Face huffed, “Looks that way doesn’t it?”

“Not happy about it, huh?” This was Sean.

“Ya know? I did a helluva job down there. Finally head out to the sandbox and... Well long story short, my CO gets this great appointment in Germany and instead of taking me with he tells ‘em I’d make a great shooting instructor. Might as well run recruitments out of an office in Omaha.” Face looked agitated, dropping items out of a rucksack without concern as to their eventual condition.

“Man. That sucks. If nothing else they should at least send you back to the field.” Ryan was shaking his head in solidarity. “What about MU?”

Face shrugged a shoulder. “What about it? He talked me out of going there once and wasn’t really given a choice now. So here I am and he’s rid of me.” He sighed as though the actual weight of the thing had finally settled on him.

“Who was your CO,” Neil asked.

“Lt. Colonel John “Hannibal” Smith,” Face spat out in disdain.

“Woah!” Mike finally joined the conversation. “You got dumped by Hannibal Smith? What did you do?”

“Just my job,” he answered, slamming the now empty sack to the floor. “Just my job.” His eyes were on the toiletries scattered across the bunk, lips tense and thin.

“Fuck him!” Neil was beside him now. “Come on. Time to give you a real welcome.”

 

*******

 

The list was impressive in its scope, disgusting in its content. His predecessor, one Colonel James Carmichael, was a piece of shit. How he got as far as he had was a mystery to Hannibal. Even Petersen in all his vileness managed to do his job well.

A man drunk on alcohol and power, Carmichael had been accused, amongst other things of manslaughter, encouraging hazing among his ranks, sexual misconduct, reckless and hazardous training demands, and threatening the careers of subordinates.  
Covering all instances he had a litany of punitive Uniform Code of Military Justice charges against him:  
\- Article 80: Attempts - Not always successful he had attempted on more than one occasion to coerce witnesses into not testifying

\- Article 93: Cruelty &/or Maltreatment - Pushing and punishing beyond any expectations, resulting in promising soldiers needlessly used up

\- Article 107: False Official Statement - Making and falsifying official U.S. Military statements and documents in an attempt to coverup and discredit

\- Article 111: Drunken or Reckless Operation of Vehicle, Aircraft or Vessel - This was the one that did him in, being arrested off base by the local police

\- Article 112: Drunk on Duty - Recordings had been made of his slurred speech in conjunction with outlandish demands

\- Article 114: Reckless Endangerment - Pushing poorly trained soldiers into ever more dangerous conditions beyond the scope of their knowledge

\- Article 115 Threat, Communicating - Covering a myriad of documented situations, he had not only frightened the men and women in his command but hardened them as well, leaving Hannibal to wonder if the damage could be undone

\- Article 119: Manslaughter - Along with those physically responsible for a hazing death, the finger was pointed directly at Carmichael who encouraged hazing rituals as the Army was pushing back hard against the practice

\- Article 120: Rape and Sexual Assault Generally - A result of more than one female soldier, enlisted and commissioned alike, who pressed charges against the man with little to no respect for any female

\- Article 131: Perjury and Falsifying Sworn Statements - Not only in broad terms, but specifically:  
\- Article 131a: Perjury, Subordination Of - Acts in which a service member attempts to persuade another person to commit perjury  
\- Article 131b: obstructing Justice - Actions which impede, delay, or obstruct an ongoing criminal investigation

\- Article 133: Conduct Unbecoming An Officer and Gentleman - Without question if found guilty of any of the other charges he brought dishonor to his rank and titles

Aside from the vastness of the charges Hannibal was appalled to learn Wallace and another previous subordinate of Carmichael’s, one Captain Phillip Johnson, had made numerous contacts with the Colonel’s superiors. The results were a little sniffing around afterwards, mostly on the QT, but on one occasion pointedly announced as being in response to Johnson’s formal complaint and request for inquiry.

Johnson was gone shortly afterward and Carmichael became even more outwardly abusive with an air of entitlement and indestructibility, convinced it would seem he was invincible, that is until a Private 1st Class died as the result of a hazing. Afterwards Wallace didn’t give a damn whose toes he stepped on or who knew it. He skipped over Carmichael’s immediate superiors and contacted the Office of Commander, U.S. Army Europe directly.

In an effort to cover their lackadaisical direction and response Carmichael, and more peripherally, his direct superiors made every effort to point the finger back on Wallace, first claiming he had gone rogue and acted outside of Carmichael’s orders. When it became obvious there was no saving Carmichael the picture of Wallace became one of a minion happily carrying out the absurdly sadistic orders of a disgraced commander.

Wallace had been reassigned just as Johnson had, but Hannibal made a special request for him to return. Having someone who had been directly involved in what had gone on at the top gave the boss a window into how things had gone so far astray and would help him devise a plan to roll back to a better moment where he could, as best as possible, rectify what had gone wrong.

“So Tom...” Hannibal began, reading from a file, pages scattered about his desk. “Says here accusations were made about you, involving you in this whole mess.” He glanced up to find the man still standing before him in an official at ease posture. “Sit down, Tom.” He lined several pages up in front of himself and began reciting, “Article 89: Disrespect Toward a Superior Commissioned Officer, Article 90: Assaulting or Willfully Disobeying a Superior Commissioned Officer. Were you disrespectful, Tom.”

Wallace’s trepidation emanated from him, his face nonreactive, his eyes giving it all away.

“I was expecting an answer there,” Hannibal pushed.

“Yes. I suppose I was,” the Major offered.

“You’re not giving me a definitive answer.”

“I wasn’t always. It got to a point when I had absolutely no respect for Colonel Carmichael and could no longer hide it. It went against all of my training, but the situation went on, unrectified, for too long. So the answer is a definite yes.”

“Did it shake your faith in the chain of command?”

“Yes, sir. It did.”

“Hannibal.”

“Sorry, sir, Hannibal.”

“Did you disobey orders?”

Again uncertainty was plain to see.

“Did you disobey orders?” was asked again a little more forcefully.

“Yes I did?”

“Why?”

“If the orders were carried out it could have caused physical and emotional harm.”

“How so? Give me an example.”

“Redirecting units to maneuvers they weren’t adequately trained to handle or simply being thoughtless in putting the soldiers in harm’s way. Like an LFX exercise in an unsecured area.”

Hannibal watched as Wallace’s trepidation was replaced with anger. It was the reaction he was looking for, hoping for. Had the Major remained hesitant there would be a question as to how damaged this particular soldier had been by the situation he found himself in. It was unthinkable to conduct live fire exercises where anyone could wander by.

“You mentioned emotionally.”

The caution was gone and response immediate. “I was ordered to squash any rumbles or complaints regarding hazing. I was also ordered to downplay any mentions of harassment or abuse. If there’s nowhere to turn, one’s defenses are systematically worn away. We all learned that in Strategy 101.”

Saying nothing Hannibal only nodded his head. He turned his attention back to the contents of the file. He held up on sheet to better view. “So 89 & 90 were dropped.”

“Yes.”

“But then we move onto Article 78: Accessory After the Fact. Were you an accessory to the previous commander’s actions?”

“In the beginning yes. There were orders that pushed boundaries I wasn’t comfortable with. Later I did what I could to bring attention to the situation and, as I just said, disobeyed orders for the well-being of the soldiers here.”

“I’m not inclined to expunge these charges from your file.”

This time Wallace’s expression was inscrutable.

“I’m going to think about this, seek advice. I don’t like the idea of accusations remaining, but I do like the idea of there being a record of your determination and loyalty to your fellow soldiers, the Army and our Constitution. We’ll get back to it.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, s...” he paused as the Colonel looked up from the note he was scribbling. “Thank you, Hannibal.”

 

*******

 

The drinking hall had an undercurrent aroma like so many others around the world. Though differentiated by a local cuisine, in this case the spiciness of Tex/Mex, each had the odor of stale beer and stale smoke. Face’s nose was filtering years of spilt beer, over splash from the men’s room and a general sourness.

Standing at the bar waiting for a pitcher of beer he smiled at the bartender as she set the plastic vessel before him. Taking the twenty from his hand she threw him an intriguing, not necessarily impressed by the handsome new face kind of look. She shook the bill by her ear on her way to the register. Before she could deposit his change on the bar Face had the pitcher in hand and was turning away.

“You want your change you better come get it. I’m not bringing it to you.”

Face turned, taking several steps backward. “Then it’s a good thing I don’t want the change.”

“I’ve heard about this guy.” Neil had leaned forward and the others did the same. “Aside from being a star shooter he was a supply officer for Smith’s team too. What do you think?” he asked scanning both faces.

“We can use him either way,” Mike noted.

“He’s coming back,” Ryan added, leaning back into his chair.

Face returned with the fresh pitcher of beer. “Talkin’ about me as soon as I leave the table. Is that any way to treat your new friend?”

Sean flicked his eyes to Neil. “What makes you think that?” The huddle opened as each of the group sat back in their chairs.

“Doesn’t take a genius to figure it out?” Face remarked setting the pitcher in the middle of the table.

“No, but a well trained sniper knows how to observe,” Ryan added.

“Did I pass the test?”

Neil smiled at him then began to pour himself another beer. “With flying colors, my friend.”

“Thank God for that. Don’t think I can handle anymore rejection.”

The group broke out laughing. Face also poured a new beer. Raising it in toast he said, “To new beginnings.”

 

*******

 

  
“It’s not for me to say. You should ask her,” Capt. Rachael Horn was proving a tough nut.

“Captain,” Hannibal began. “I want to be sensitive to Specialist Hanson’s privacy needs, but in order to do that I want to be prepared. I’m perfectly capable of never mentioning your name in any discussions with her.”

“But she’ll know it was from me.”

“Can you find a way to trust me?”

“With all due respect, sir, trust has been in short supply coming from this office.”

“And I’ve been charged with changing that.”

Captain Horn glanced in Wallace’s direction.

Hannibal was on it. “I want something to be very clear. If it wasn’t for Major Wallace and Captain Johnson I either wouldn’t be here or my arrival would have been substantially delayed.” He paused to let that settle in. “The Major is responsible for our having this opportunity to maybe not fully right wrongs, but at the very least set a new path.”

Wallace turned his head, taking his gaze off of the determined yet skittish Captain. He understood from firsthand experience the effect the Colonel’s stare could have on a person. He wasn’t interested in burying the young woman. Hannibal would get what he wanted without Wallace adding pressure.

Horn’s eyes flicked once more in Wallace’s direction, fully prepared to unleash an old but effective defense, the withering glance. Well honed and perfected through the ages, when well executed it could be used with as much precision as any modern day military tracking system. However, Wallace wasn’t looking her way.

Her attention returned to Hannibal. “You’re asking me to betray a confidence.”

“I’m asking you to brief me on a situation that involves the harassment of a soldier under your command.”

“But...” Horn tried to break in.

“This base is going to become one run in standard military fashion. As such I expect my inquiries to be answered. Now, I am ordering you to answer my questions.” There was a roar simmering beneath the Colonel’s veneer.

Capt. Horn relayed how Carmichael had threatened the female Specialist repeatedly until the night she agreed to follow him to his car and he drove them off base. He took them to a secluded area and killed the engine. The Specialist could smell the liquor on his breath from a distance but nearly gagged on the odor of it and an obvious lack of oral hygiene when he pounced on her across the console.

It didn’t take her instincts to know she was in the presence of an extremely dangerous and unpredictable man. Her life could very well balance on her cooperation. She never fought him as he unzipped his pants after handing her a tube of red lipstick with an order to apply it to her mouth. She didn’t resist when he grabbed her by the hair on the back of her head, pushing her face into his crotch while thrusting a half limp cock between her lips.

She only once held up a hand in an ill timed attempt to cushion the blow to her head when he became enraged after losing the last memory of an erection. Blaming her he again had her hair close to the scalp when he slammed her head to the car’s dash.

Her first thought was the brightness was a reaction to head trauma. What followed in the next minute didn’t register in her thinking brain. She was transported back to a fifth grade school play she had been a part of. The bright stage lights came to mind. As quickly as the memory was there it was gone again as a hard rapping on the window reverberated through the car.

From the moment the driver’s door was flung open until she was seated alone in the back of a squad car time had rolled into a tight ball. The surrealistic night didn’t end until well after midnight, after she had been escorted back to barracks by the MPs she was handed over to by the local police. It wasn’t until she was surrounded by her fellow female soldiers was she aware of the state her clothes were in. One of the women led her to the bathroom where she was handed a wet and soaped washcloth. Another gestured toward her own face.

When Dorothy peered in the mirror she saw how her hair had been pulled in clumps from her neat ponytail to form rangy hills about her head. But the true horror was the sight of her own face. It had to have been three hours since she was first pulled through the passenger door of Carmichael’s car. In all that time it wasn’t until now she was offered a cloth to wipe away the bright red lipstick missing from her lips but smeared across her face.

Thanks to the MPs telling exactly the wrong little bastard about her condition when she was unceremoniously dumped on them at the gates to the base, she had been the subject of ridicule by a group of seven other E4s. Horn elaborated on the harassment. She told the two men of the Specialist having a banana forced on her by one of the E4s in the midst of jeers. One asking if she could get the whole thing in her mouth in one go. Another saying she could but she was missing something before tossing a tube of lipstick at her. She continued on with more stories of Specialist Hanson’s often public degradations. She also told of Hanson’s determination in never letting them see her shy from them.

One thing Horn wanted very clear. “It wasn’t only the Specialist. Carmichael coerced other young women with intimidation, with threats of derailing their careers.”

Despite the anger he could feel roiling just below the surface he kept his outward demeanor calm and professional. “I understand.”

 

Horn had left them an hour before. They had a plan in place and knew their rolls. “Ready?” Hannibal asked.

“Let’s roll,” Wallace replied.

 

It was another forty-five minutes later and Hannibal was sitting in front of his desk in one of the two guest chairs holding a box of tissue. Beside him in the other chair sat one Specialist Dorothy Hanson dabbing at her eyes with one of the proffered tissues.

“I understand this has been a difficult time for you, Specialist. Though I understand you’ve held up remarkably. Well done, soldier.”

“Yeah right. Look at me,” she said through wet, red eyes and a snuffling nose. “Sir,” she added as an afterthought.

“From what I understand you have been harassed by a particular group of soldiers yet have never shown any fear, resentment or made any retaliations. You’ve held your head high and have been nothing but professional.”

She had been pulling herself together, but these last words found her breaking down once more. Hannibal tapped her arm with the held out tissue box.

As the Specialist yanked tissue after tissue from the box Hannibal spoke. “We are currently rounding up these perpetrators.” He reached forward on his desk for a legal pad sitting there. Handing the pad to her he continued, “This is the list of names I have for the group. Please add anyone else involved. Include their rank if you know it.”

The specialist held the pad in one hand, a wad of tissues in the other and had a gawking look on her tear-streaked face. “I can’t do that.”

“I’m afraid you have no choice. You’ve managed to hold out until help arrived. Well here we are. The men who have been after you are a disgrace to their ranks and uniform. You’ve been on the receiving end of it, but you still have a duty here. If you witnessed a soldier bringing shame on their unit, uniform, country with any other inexcusable behavior it would be your duty to cooperate in naming the perpetrators and standing witness against them. I expect the same here.”

Bitterness was clear in her voice, “This isn’t for me.”

Lips tight, Hannibal nodded an agreement before stating, “This is for our uniforms and all they stand for.” He jabbed at the legal pad. “These men don’t deserve the uniforms they wear. They don’t deserve the respect you have earned. If you prefer to not see it as a win that’s your prerogative, but I will not stand by without seeing them charged. Now read this list and if there are others add them on. And don’t forget the MPs.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Dorothy, this is the first step in taking your life back. It’s also a demonstration to any future COs you can give as good as you take. I think it’s important you impress everyone farther down the road as you’ve impressed me.”

His soft smile was reciprocated by one of her own.

 

“Beer or Scotch?” Hannibal asked Wallace who again sat in the now familiar stone-faced silence. “Do you not drink, Tom?”

“Yes. Not much. I...”

“We have two big days starting tomorrow. We need to finish our presentations for Thursday. It’s twenty hundred now and I say we’re off the clock. Do you care to join me in a drink or not?”

“Is that scotch any good?” the Major asked.

“Tom, Tom, Tom. I thought you’d been paying attention.” Hannibal leaned in close, raising the bottle in front of him. “Macallan 18.”

Tom laughed. “Caught me. I keep forgetting there’s a new sheriff in town. I’ll have scotch.”

 

*******

 

“Yeah. I got the contacts for that.” Face took another draw from his beer trying to calm his nerves. It was showtime.

“What about you?” Sean asked.

“What about me?” Face wasn’t following.

“We don’t need extra bodies. We need someone who will just take care of it.”

Face slowly nodded his head. “I understand,” and left it there.

Sean’s lips were tightening and his glare was deliberately belligerent. Neil knew where this was headed. “I think what Sean is getting at is if you can’t take care of this yourself we’re going to have to look elsewhere.”

“And if we look elsewhere we have a loose end that needs to be dealt with.” Sean made it obvious. There was no question this was a threat.

Face narrowed his eyes. He was this close to jumping Sean. Demonstrate exactly what a Ranger is capable of. Sean didn’t register it. He was too busy playing the tough guy, but Neil didn’t miss it. Affable as Face was he knew the training put into special forces. Before he could interject Face surprised him.

The LT’s laughter would have been infectious if hadn’t involved one of Sean’s shows of force.

“Who are you laughin’ at, asshole?” Sean looked ready to strike.

Just a couple of short years prior Sean’s belligerence would have set Face off. Not anymore, not after Hannibal’s mentorship. Sure, he could still go off on a tangent, but there was safety in doing it in Hannibal’s presence. There was the knowledge Hannibal could level things out. But he was on his own here. No Hannibal in sight. “I’ve got the clearance to access anything I want inside that armory. And not just that one. I can walk into a half dozen of them. But it doesn’t mean shit without someone inside.”

“Then we’ll find someone inside.”

“You know what? You’re right. I’m probably not your guy. If this is the best you got I don’t want anything to do with it.”

“What’s that suppose to mean?” Sean blustered.

“It means you haven’t got a plan.”

“We just got done explaining the plan. It’s on you you can’t understand English.”

Face laughed again, “You haven’t got a plan. Trust me on this one. I’ve worked one on one with one of the Army’s most strategical minds. You haven’t got a plan, you have an idea outline.”

“Yeah and that hotshot Colonel left you behind. So maybe you don’t know as much as you think you know.”

“Fuck you!” Face was up, his chair skittering out behind him.

“Shut up Sean,” Neil could see Face was right and knew it was important they salvaged this. He caught up to Face before he could bolt out the door. “Face.”

“Hey man. Nothing against you, but I don’t need this shit.”

“I know you don’t. He’s a hothead. I’ll talk to him. Come on. Come back.”

Face looked over his shoulder. Ryan and Mike were all over Sean. It didn’t look friendly. That was satisfaction enough ... for the moment.

“Come on Face. I want to hear what you think about the whole thing.”

After a brief study of Neil’s face the two returned to the table.

“So what do you think will help this become a plan?” Neil said trying to get things rolling.

“You need someone else on the inside.”

“That was suppose to be you,” Sean sneered.

“I won’t do it alone and I can guarantee you no one inside any of the armories will do it without an intermediary.”

“We already told our buyers there would only be one more person.” This was Mike. He’d seen Sean riling up and cut him off.

“You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.” Face dared the snappy little dog to bark at him again. When nothing came from Sean he continued. “Since when do the buyers dictate how many people are on the sellers crew?”

“That’s not actually the case,” Ryan said looking at Sean then rolling his eyes.

“It will be when I’m done talking to them about...”

“You think you can negotiate that, Sean? You’re out of your mind. Don’t bother arguing.” Face turned to Neil. “Who are these guys anyhow?”

“The head guy calls himself La Pantera. It means...” but Mike was cut off.

“The Panther,” Face finished for him. “You’re negotiating an arms deal with the cartel headed by Jorge Mendoza Hierra? La Pantera de Guerrero? The Panther of Guerrero?”

“Well we’ve made initial contact with them,” Neil noted.

“Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. It starts with Neil and I taking over all the negotiations...”


	14. Chapter 14

  
_What a mess_. The phrase seemed to be running on a continuous loop through his head. Carmichael was gone, but those who learned from him were amongst personnel now under Hannibal’s command. For many, far too many, this base was their first assignment of the newly fledged out for overseas duty. That their initiation into what was meant to be the next step in a military career was nothing but a corrupted file in a labyrinth of pathways to success left him feeling at a loss. In the end there was no sugarcoating it. He was tasked with overseeing the situation until a permanent CO was decided on. Whomever that might be would be none too happy to find Hannibal had let the status quo continue.

He had already tackled the problems associated with Wallace, a man stuck between a rock and a bigger rock. He had faith in his XO and was certain Wallace in turn had faith in him as well. There were several situations that topped the list of difficult subjects he hadn’t wanted to deal with, but could find no adequate alternative than to meet them head-on.

One of the toughest had been Specialist Hanson.

Had he been asked even a few short years prior if he would be able to discuss the responsibilities of the victim of sexual assault with the victim herself he would answer in a firm negative. He thought of a very different approach he had taken with Face. Coaxing him to make the only correct decision possible as compared to firmly pointing out the duty Specialist Hanson owed her uniform.

It had felt harsh. Who was he kidding? It was harsh, but necessary. His instincts were to coddle the young woman, but that wasn’t his duty. His duty was to move the base forward and that entailed weeding out those who weren’t suitable for the uniform of the United States Army. He knew it was a fine line between his tough behavior towards the woman and the abusive behavior of her tormentors.

In the briefing he received of the events it was without reservation he knew the woman in question was no handmaiden, anything but for that matter. She did what she had to do. She kept her head about her. Hell, as far as he understood it her only public tears over not only her attack but the ensuing harassment were shed in his office. Her iron will was something to be cultivated, not buried in pity.

Again he thought of Face. He was the one who taught him that. Face had been subjected to his tormentor far longer than the Specialist hers. He had been close to broken. But knowing he wasn’t alone made the difference. Knowing Bill and himself were there behind him was all the lifesaver he needed. Hannibal recalled the day they moved him out of that hovel of an apartment, how he held his ground one final time alone against George. Hannibal clearly understood the strength it took for the kid to stand firm, just like he understood the strength he was asking of Specialist Hanson. A difficult demand she met and overcame, just as Face had.

Both soldiers were up to the challenge and he couldn’t have been prouder to have the privilege of having both serve under him.

Having dispatched the slimeballs who had been a bane to Hanson, next up in line was to impress upon each and every person on the base there would be no opportunity for a repeat of the hazing incident. Amongst his other offenses Carmichael had encouraged hazing among the ranks. It had been considered part and parcel to coming up in Hannibal’s time and no doubt in Carmichael’s too; however, like it or not, this was a new army they were a part of. The days of deranged and abusive Drill Sergeants and trial by fire initiations were, buy directive, being put in the past. And with good reason. Though not the first, Hannibal was determined the young man who lost his life some six months prior would be the last, at least on this base under his watch.

As hazings go the most recent should have been rather innocuous. The Roll-Up was what the name implied. The hapless recipient is cornered in one way or another, be it an outdoor ambush or perhaps calling them to an officially unoccupied office to be met by a group and subdued. The person is bound hand and foot or occasionally bodily in duct tape. Once rolled-up they are most often left to be found in a public area by others or released after good natured photos are taken.

Though the subjects of these admittedly childish pranks would be the last to report an incident, the military was trying to change the whistleblower culture from one of disloyalty to the respectable. A change that was proving to be more difficult to flip in reality than it sounded on paper. Hannibal shook his head as he read the incident report he would use as an exhibit in driving home the point that hazing was no longer considered a right of passage. It was now being viewed as not only harassment but also endangerment.

The young man who was the focus of this particular occurrence had laughed with the joke and played along as he was carried from the hallway where he had been captured and bound. Once outside where the plan was to leave him on the steps of the administration building he, between laughs, began calling for help. He was shushed and told to be quiet which seemed to only egg him on further claiming there was no rule saying he had to make anything easy for his abductors. And that was the turning point. Another piece of tape was employed.

He objected saying he’d be quiet. In the tussle his avoidance became more of a battle than good natured fun as he tried to squirm away from the tape. One of the onlookers later admitted he heard the victim say, “Really guys. I have allergies. I won’t be able to breathe,” before his head was held still by one of the men and the tape applied across his mouth by the woman. In the end the young man’s muffled cries and thrashing gave out as he suffocated.

With his nose plugged from a combination of hay fever and a missed dose of decongestant there was only his mouth left to breath through. One of the group dropped to the ground to remove the tape but had been kicked hard enough to fracture a rib and told they would all be disciplined if it came out they were involved in a hazing. Another attempt was made to remove the tape resulting in a fistfight and everyone’s attention diverted to breaking it up. When a third person was finally able to remove the tape the young soldier was dead.

The perpetrators had already been returned to the States to face court-marshal. From the briefing Hannibal received from Tom he learned the story of what happened outside the hardcopies he held in his hand. It was disturbing to say the least.

Of the eight soldiers involved Tom felt only two of them had it in them to let the situation escalate out of hand. Two E4s, one man, one woman, Tom was convinced had led the group. One gave the impression he’d always been the schoolyard bully, the other a woman bent on showing the world she could be as in your face as any male. Both clueless on the subtleties between assertiveness and aggression.

The others, Tom was convinced, wouldn’t have acted on their own nor initiated a group effort. He told Hannibal they were all on first overseas duty, eager to please. That the leadership encouraging the behavior they engaged in, wasn’t of their choosing, was a sticking point for the Major.

As much as Hannibal wanted to back Tom in his assessment, he couldn’t do so fully. There were three involved who had attempted to intervene. Though he wished the rest of the group’s weaknesses had come to light before being pointed out so dramatically, there was no way around the fact none of them were inherently fit to serve. The military chain of command could often be unyielding in its doctrine of follow the leader, yet it was expected individuals used enough common sense to not follow the wrong leader. There was, in Hannibal’s view, something lacking in a person who allowed themselves to be dissuaded from taking appropriate action.

What kind of person stands by when there’s no other outcome but an avoidable tragedy? How could someone who watched as a fellow soldier suffocated due to their inaction be trusted in the field? The answer was simple - they couldn’t be trusted. To top it off, none had reported the incident. Whether anyone tried to intervene or not they all left a fellow soldier in the shadows of a walkway, not to be discovered until the following afternoon. This wasn’t a grey area for Hannibal and in presenting it in those terms it lost any fuzziness for Tom as well.

 

******

 

“Who’s that?” Face asked pointing with his chin toward a man standing, arms folded, feet apart, a nearly black silhouette against the grimy window of the back alley watering hole in the bad section of a town hard pressed to present a good section.

They were south of the border in Nuevo Laredo, Neil introducing Face to Jorge Mendoza Hierra, The Panther of Guerrero, a disgraced former General with the Mexican army.

“Do not worry about him. That is Javier. He is my Lieutenant. Not very smart, but he is a good bodyguard. Use caution around him. He is very accurate with throwing knives.

“So you are another Army man,” the former General directed Face’s way.

“Yes I am,” Face nodded. He sat directly across the table from the head of the up and coming drug cartel. To his right at another table two more of Hierra’s men could have passed for just a couple of customers, unlike Javier whose menacing stare was focused only on his boss and the two Americans.

Hierra’s attention turned to Neil. “You have too many people.”

Face cut in before Neil could respond. “What? You don’t want what I have to offer? Fine by me. I’ll be on my way.”

“Hold up there, Face.” Neil didn’t have any doubts Face would get up and leave, or at least try to, endangering both of them. “Face brings a lot to the table. He’s going to be a huge asset.”

“What do you do, Cara?” Hierra asked Face.

“You asking me?”

“Sí.”

“The name’s Face.”

“You do not speak Spanish?” the cartel leader asked.

“I know French if that helps.”

Neil rolled his eyes. “He doesn’t mean any disrespect, señor.”

“Is that true, Cara?”

“Again. The name is Face.”

Hierra flicked his wrist.

_Thwunck_

A knife flew past Face’s head landing in the woodwork behind him. It seemed Javier was indeed pretty handy in the knife throwing department. The LT’s expression gave nothing away though nerves throughout his body were screaming in response to the adrenaline flooding him.

“You are a brave one, Face.” Hierra studied the man across from him thinking he’d never seen eyes that shade of blue.

Face sighed and tipped his head. With his tongue he began working a bit of corn from between two teeth as the Mexicans spoke among themselves.

“Tell me. What do you ‘bring to the table?’ Why are you here?”

“I’m an arms expert.”

“Everyone in the Army is arms expert.”

“I’m a trained sniper.”

“How does that help me?”

“I’m really good. I’m so good I‘ve been transferred to Hood as an expert instructor.”

“What does that matter to me?”

“It matters to you because I have the highest security clearance for the armory, giving me full access. I can lay my hands on weapons you didn’t even know existed. Interested now?”

Hierra smiled.

 

As they walked through the alley back to the thoroughfare Face quietly sang an old Hoyt Axton song:  
_You got a knife I got a gun_  
_Come on boy we’re gonna have a little fun_  
_I’m a crazy man ..._

A block further away and Neil could no longer hold onto his calm mode. “Yesss! Man! He loves you! Nice goin’!”

“Everybody loves me,” Face deadpanned.

“Sean doesn’t.”

“May have to work on that ... Or not.”

“I just about pissed my pants when that knife went sailing by. How the hell didn’t you lose your shit?!”

“I’m a US Army and Marine trained sniper. It prepares you for some hairy situations. But I’ll tell ya. If he did it again I would of been running out yelping like a scared puppy. Man, was he creepy or what?”

“I wouldn’t trust him as a bodyguard if I was Hierra. He was a Colonel in the Mexican Army before joining his old CO in his new venture. He doesn’t appreciate Hierra calling him a Lieutenant one bit.”

“You’d think Hierra would be a little more careful about poking that bear. He could be deadly with those things.”

“Hey, I know I’ve heard you speak Spanish,” Neil said abruptly changing the topic.

“You probably did, but they don’t need to know that, do they?”

Neil couldn’t help his smirk and chuckle. “You’re one cool dude, aren’t you?”

“Learned from the best.”

“His loss.” When no reply came he moved on. “So what did they say?”

“Hierra was impressed. Hey, let’s stop in here for one before getting back on the road.” Face flipped his head towards a more upscale bar than the one they had just left, though not by much. He had pinched Neil’s sleeve to tug him along.

“So... He’s had no problem dealing with you,” Face picked up the translation. “...and said now that the two-headed snake isn’t part of negotiations, meaning Sean, they can cut and run on the other guys they talked to out of Ecuador. The one in the leather jacket said they couldn’t do that, they’re in too far. Hierra warned him not to tell him what to do.”

“Alright.” Chin lowered, Neil bobbed his head. Looking up to Face’s profile he asked, “What’s your next move?”

“Don’t you mean what’s our next move?”

“Well yeah, but...”

“But what?” Face asked.

“But now that there’s a buyer lined up, what’s our inventory?”

“I’ll let you know.”

“Look, Face, we don’t need any lone wolves in this mix.” Neil made it clear he wasn’t pleased with the obtuse answers.

Face dropped a hand on his companion’s shoulder. “Hey. Remember what I said to Sean? An idea’s not the same as a plan. I look at an idea as a macro. The plan is micro. It’s steps.”

“So what do you have in mind for the next step?”

“We. You and me.” Face gestured between the two of them. “It’s not just me. We come up with the next steps together. So what do you see as the next step?”

“Alright. We need to know what we can offer him. What weapons.”

“And how do we do that?” Face lead.

“We need to know what’s available.”

“Now you’re getting the idea,” Face said through a smile.

Neil huffed. “You making sure you’re not the only one, huh?”

“I like working in a team. I’m not suited to being a ‘lone wolf.’”

“Face my man, we’re gonna make a great team.” Neil raised his glass. Face met it with his own. “So you’re going to check out what’s available. What about getting it out?”

“I’ll have help with that.”

“Think Sean’s right. We can’t keep spreading how many people are involved too far. It’s less return for one, but more chance of something going wrong. Someone going wrong.”

“I’ll take that one on my own. And so you know, I’ll be keeping it to myself. They don’t need to be outed.”

“That’s not going to go over well.”

“That’s why you’re going to brief the rest of the guys.”

“I’m sure they’ll have questions for you too.”

“Deal with it, will ya Neil? I want to talk to my inside contact.”

Neil wasn’t happy about it, but what could he do?

“I’ll get back with all of you, what? Tomorrow afternoon?” Face asked

“Okay.”

“Nothing like putting a plan together.”

“You look excited.”

“On the jazz I guess.” Face left a tip on the table and rose. “We should get back north.”


	15. Chapter 15

_So this is what it feels like to be a rock star,_ Hannibal thought to himself. Up on a stage, a massive crowd of people looked up to him. Except, aside from USO tours, concert goers don’t all wear BDUs, not to mention no one was chanting his name and besides being quiet all were standing at attention.

After introductions and some minor bits of business Hannibal had been formally introduced. “I’m guessing many of you have already heard of me...”

Though brigades are formally led by Colonels, when recommended there had been no question as to putting one Lt. Colonel Smith temporarily in charge. In his opening comments he had skimmed over the fact of his rank and the temporary nature of his assignment.

He didn’t dawdle in his introductory remarks. Well aware after being called to attention for his intro, he hadn’t released the troops in the brigade to an at ease. It was a subtle statement on the changes in store. He quickly came to what he considered the most important of several points decided on for this assembly.

“What have you always heard about hazing? That it’s a traditional part of our community? It’s historic? Later in life it will bring back fond memories?” He paused for only a few beats.

“Bullshit. The memories it should bring back are the ones involving the death of a man as the result of a ridiculous prank gone wrong. A prank gone wrong followed by the complete disregard for any dignity that may have remained for the deceased by leaving his body abandoned like so much flotsam. I have one thing to say to that.” He scanned the faces. “If you’re immature enough to pull a stupid stunt on a fellow soldier, it’s time to grow up!”

He again scanned across the audience. All were listening. He saw none conferring with a neighbor, all still at attention. There were, however, too many for his liking not looking at him. “Eyes up here! Every last one of you!” Satisfied, he continued, “The days of good natured pranks are done. You want to ask, ‘What’s the problem if no one gets hurt?’ The problem is there are too many who do not know when to stop.

“I want successful soldiers. What’s one way of accomplishing that end? Don’t set anyone up to fail. There are those who simply have a mean streak running through them. They will be found out eventually. Then there are those who don’t know the difference between loyalty to their fellow soldiers and loyalty to a greater purpose. If hazing is part of the package, there are people who become swept up into situations they would never voluntarily put themselves in.

“There’s no way to pretty this up. A man died here. Think about that. He didn’t die for his country. He didn’t die for anyone’s honor. He died because his fellow soldiers killed him. The very people who were to have his back. Try to explain that to his family.

”As I said at the start, you probably already heard of me. You probably know I may use some creative means to accomplish my goals. But one thing I will not resort to is losing the respect of those under my command. Especially by putting my Alfas or any of you in undue danger. If that happens, I have failed. It’s my job to be the brains of this operation. That means the Constitution of the United States of America is my mistress. I can’t serve it alone, none of us can. As an officer, it is my duty to ensure each and every one of you does your part and you can’t do your part if you are laid up or dead. Doing my best to make that is my responsibility to you and I can’t do that without using my brain. I can’t do it all for you, that’s why you absolutely must use your brains as well.

“It’s a new day here. We have a job to do. If you find yourself with enough time and energy to do something as unproductive as deliberately acting with disrespect toward your fellow soldiers even in jest, you’re just not trying hard enough. If you feel the best way to spend your time is in the pursuit of your fellow combatants, you need to see your CO to discuss how you can more productively serve your country. I have already spoken to them and they fully understand my expectations of them and their responsibilities to each of you.

“From here on out there will be no excuse for not seeking out guidance. Be it to discuss an incident involving others or yourself, I have set into motion a program to assist each of you at all tiers to have your needs and concerns addressed. You will each receive a copy of the hierarchy of support.

“It’s very simple. If you do not feel you have received the support you require from your immediate CO, you will have a clear understanding of where to go next. You will receive a hard copy. You will see them posted on bulletin boards. You will also have access to it via computer. You will be able to pull up the information on any of the inter-connected computers available here within our intra-net.

“If you make it all the way through each tier with no resolution, I will be your last stop. Together we will determine if there is a major breakdown within the system or if your issue just cannot be resolved or lived with. From there we will determine when your last day in service will be and what type of discharge will be yours to carry for the rest of your life. A word of warning. Choose your battles wisely.

“I have requested counsel to specifically address the needs of our female troops. Lt. Colonel Laurel Richards will be joining us next week. Don’t worry gentlemen, I haven’t forgotten you. Major Stephen Terrence will be your contact for male counseling. Both are clinical psychologists and though primarily divided by gender, I’ve been assured both will crossover as required or requested. We’ll know more when they arrive on...”

“Tuesday,” Tom prompted.

“Tuesday. Next Tuesday,” Hannibal completed.

“Each squad, each platoon, each company, each battalion, this entire brigade is starting anew as of this moment. We have a lot of ground to make up. Tomorrow we will start at square one. We will be doing crash courses in each segment of maneuvers. If you find yourself working below your pay grade for a day or two, enjoy the break and help those in need of assistance. We are restarting the clock back to zero, but it will be running a little faster than originally planned in order to meet the three month deployment deadline.

“Major Wallace will be giving you a rundown of the accelerated schedule. At ease.”

 

******

 

“Look at ‘em.” Sean was gesturing to the people on the street. “All these filthy Mexicans. The men are all in some way connected to the drug cartels and the women are all whores.”

“Shut up Sean,” Face sneared at him. “We don’t need you starting a streetfight. We’ve got business to take care of.”

“Think I’m bullshitting? Watch this.” Sean grabbed the wrist of a woman passing by. With a hand quickly put over her mouth he had her yanked into an alley before the other two could stop him.

Sean had the struggling woman against the wall. “Hold still you fucking whore. You want a nice gringo dick? ¿Huh, puta de mierda?”

It came so quickly he registered it in reverse. Sean didn’t feel he’d been pulled backwards, instead the woman and wall looked to be retreating. He could see Neil bending down to pick up her handbag.

“Are you okay? ¿Estás bien?” He reached for her elbow, but she pulled it away. His hands went up in a surrender. “Sorry. Sorry. Please go.” He extended an arm back toward the exit and her escape, watching as she hurried back to the street.

Turning around he found Face had Sean on his back, a hand locked and pressing down on his throat.

“What the fuck, man?!” Sean spat once Face had been pried off. “Don’t you ever put your hands on me again! You got that?”

Face didn’t reply. Breaths coming in gusts, he only looked up and down the pissed off bit of garbage standing before him. Sean’s hands clenched and unclenched, upper lip curled.

Neil took one step between them, “Back off, Sean! What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

It seemed to break the white anger clouding everything out but Face.

Sean had insisted on going with them to meet with Hierra, though both Face and Neil knew the drug lord couldn’t stand the sight of him. He had started down a dangerous path of accusations, riling everyone concerned. Face and Neil were against a wall. A ticking time bomb, not bringing him along with would, without a doubt, give Sean an excuse to blow up the whole damn deal. Taking him, they risked alienating Hierra and pushing him back to the Ecuadorians. They went with the least of two evils, bring him along rather than leave him behind to rabble rouse or worse.

In the alley Neil shoved this pinless grenade against the same section of adobe wall the woman had been held to. “You pull some stupid shit in front of Hierra, Face and me, we’re leaving you, hear? We walk away and leave you. He can do whatever he does to assholes like you. Got it?”

He received no answer, but Neil was confident he’d been heard, loud and clear. Upon release Sean only raised his chin and strode back toward the street like nothing had happened.

“Crazy fuck,” Face murmured under his breath.

 

“I put him down.” Hierra was laughing at the memory before continuing the story of taking out the man standing in his way to being sole head of the cartel. “Know what I did before I kill him? I made sure he knew I took his wife to my bed.” Relaying this bit of information resulted in all out belly laughs erupting from the outlaw. Wiping tears from his eyes he said loudly while slapping the tabletop, “He knew she had been mine.”

“That who you married?” Sean asked. Both Face and Neil shot him looks with enough malice to rival one of Javier’s blades.

“No! We had our fun, but I didn’t want her after. Like what you Americans call cars, used. My wife, she has only been with me,” Hierra answered, indignant.

“She got that new car smell?” Sean asked

“This is all very interesting,” Face jumped in wanting to get this done with. Get them out of there in one piece despite’s Sean’s best efforts to the contrary. “...but I’m running out of time before my contact inside the armory is moved out of Hood and is transferred to another base. So make your picks and let’s settle on a price.”

“No patience.” Hierra’s mirth has been squashed. “I already know what I want from your armory, but I need another service as well.”

 

“No. Not interested.” Face left no room for misunderstanding. Neil had put forward the new offer to the rest of the group. Sean of course had volunteered Face’s services.

“What? You have a moral opposition?” Sean was in his face ... again.

“I’m not doing wet work. No explanation needed.” He didn’t care what rewards were available if he tagged along much less participated in assassinations of Hierra’s enemies.

“You’re a sniper what difference does it make?” Sean wasn’t giving up.

“If you were a sniper you’d know.”

“Fuck you man. Getting sick of your superior attitude. ‘I’m a sniper. I have morals.’” Sean taunted.

“No one ever said wet work would be part of the equation. And you know what? Maybe I’ve had enough of this little clusterfuck. Maybe you can find someone else to smuggle your guns.”

“Come on Face. You know what he’s like.” Neil was there once more to play arbitrator.

“Oh yeah? What am I like, Neil?” Sean had his chest out like a goddamn fighting cock.

“That’s enough, Sean.” Though seldom heard from, when Mike spoke everyone listened.

Sean’s nostrils were flared, but he tempered his response. “Fine.” He paced the length of their quarters then made a beeline to Face, extending his hand. “Truce?”

Face looked him in the eye and could clearly see something else would light his fuse and they’d be right back where they started. It was just a matter of time. Yet, he took the little bastard’s hand. “Truce.”

“Good.” Sean patted his pockets and extracted two sets of car keys. “I need to go meet this guy who’s got the truck. Come with me, Face. Whata ya say? No hard feelings. You can drive the truck back.” He held up one set of keys, waggling them in the air.

“Yeah. Okay,” Face huffed out.

“Good. Let’s go.” Sean was already heading for the door.

Face stole a glance to Neil and rolled his eyes. Neil smiled in return.

Far off the road, Sean snaked his way along an overgrown, twisting and deserted drive through a patch of woods. In a small glen not thirty feet from the tree line behind them stood an abandoned bunkhouse. Parked in front was an incongruous truck. It sat out of place within a scene straight out of a Earl W. Bascom painting, doing its absolute best not to look out of place.

Looked like a bread truck.

“That’s weird,” Sean noted. “He’s early.”

Sean was out of the car and looking in the truck’s cab. Face was surveying the area. “Hey!Dude!” Sean called. No answer. “Must be inside.”

Face followed behind, skirting the vehicle. His hand extended unnoticed, brushing against the cool grill. He reached under the back of his untucked shirt, palming the P238 nestled in the waistband of his jeans.

The interior of the bunkhouse was straight off a movie set. A large single room with doorways to either side, a quick glance in any direction provided a view to multiple bunk beds. Sean made a circuit of the central room before turning to Face. “You know asshole, we can’t afford to have someone who’s not one hundred percent behind us. Not someone who thinks he’s above the rest of us, who won’t go all the way for what’s needed.”

“Because I won’t get involved with assassinations?”

“Someone with your particular set of skills shouldn’t have a problem knocking off a few Mexicans.”

“The ‘Mexicans’ he’s talking about are cops, Federales. They’ll find out who pulled the trigger and they won’t stop until they find the man who did it. No thank you.”

“It’s too bad. I thought you had more balls than that.”

Sean went for his own waistband and the weapon he concealed. A cracking sound like breaking ice echoing in the room. Face drew fast and fired only to see the round had to have passed over Sean’s head. It was good shot, he just had no way of knowing the target would drop straight to the ground as he fired.

Eyes and his SIG Sauer traveled down in tandem. Sean lay dead on the floor, a single round wound in his forehead. Behind him on the other side of the door he heard a familiar voice. “Face! It’s me. I’m going to open the door and come in.”

Spinning back to the direction of the door, Face was distracted by a broken window. He could have sworn they were all intact. “It was you breaking the window. It wasn’t ice.”

Neil’s eyes squinted, perplexed. “What?”

“Nothing.” Face’s brain was catching up to real time. “Where did you come from?”

“Sean never gives up that easy. Truce my ass. What happened?”

“He was acting like he was surprised to see the truck. When I walked by it it was cool. The engine was cool. It hadn’t just been driven. I knew there was something up.”

Neil squatted to pat Sean’s pockets. Standing, he held a phone in a bandana covered hand, promptly dropping it. Stepping forward to seemingly retrieve the phone Neil instead stepped on it. “Whoops.”

Face was looking down on the phone, “What the...”

“Hold on a sec.” Again using the neckerchief he opened the flip phone, propping it open, he positioned his boot heel atop. The crunch was surprisingly loud.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s too bad the SIM card was crushed.” Neil raised his brows and cocked his head in a “Get it now?” expression. When it was clear the whole thing was going over Face’s head Neil added, “I don’t want anyone knowing he didn’t call me for backup. Otherwise, why would I be following you?”

Face slowly nodded his head. Yeah, he got it. Without the SIM the phone couldn’t be read, at least not without a subpoena for phone records.

“Come on, Face. We need to get you out of here.”

“Not yet. I had him.”

“Sure buddy. Let’s go.”

Face was walking to the far end of the room. “No, I mean I fired on him. It’s in the wall. We need to retrieve it.”

They were outside, Face’s slug secure in the pocket of his jeans. He already had in mind where he’d pitch the thing out the window along Interstate 35. “You wipe the door handle, I’ll get the grill of the truck.”

“You wanna drive the truck?” Neil asked.

“No. And neither do you. We’re leaving it here.” Face pulled the keys from his pocket, carefully wiping each one before pitching them in the direction of the porch.

“Why? We need it.”

“We don’t need that one. We don’t know where he got it or from whom. He may have just stolen it. We don’t know. Can’t take the risk of driving it around. I’ll scam us another one.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Hey Neil?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“Thought you said you had it handled.” Neil was smirking.

“Never hurts to have backup.”

It was a little over half an hour drive to Fort Hood, ten minutes of that just to get back to the interstate. Both men were still unnerved by the afternoon’s events. The one saving grace was the entire incident transpired in the middle of nowhere Texas. Anyone who may have heard the report wouldn’t be alarmed. The American West is in many ways the same as it has been for over two hundred years. People regularly carry guns and hunt year round.

From years of viewing the world through KIM games, Face did one more walkthrough of the scene in his mind.The turnoff from the road was only fifteen feet or so of gravel before turning into a path of overgrown brush. Looking closely, the flattened vegetation tracks from the three vehicles were visible, but only when one was looking for them. Within the clearing, there were tracks of two vehicles, Sean’s car and the truck, both accounted for. Any footprints would be in the form of stepped on vegetation, impossible to read direction or number of people involved once it rebounded on its own. Face had only touched the grill of the truck, Neil said he hadn’t touched it at all. The keys had been wiped down and thrown. Made of brass, it would take a pointed search to find them as they wouldn’t glint in the sun.

The porch of the building had leaf debris. Though disturbed, it wasn’t obvious how many or even if the comings and goings were from people. Inside, the dirt on the floor was disturbed enough to pass as a scuffle or just someone milling around. And of course there was the broken window...

“The guys aren’t going to like this,” Neil broached while merging onto the highway.

“We’ve got a long ride. Better get our stories straight.”

“We can just tell them what happened.”

“Think they’ll buy it? Or looking forward, will we need to cover for each other? If we tell them we both took a shot or even one of us, how long can we trust them to not turn us in?” Face was chewing on the side of his thumb. He dug in his pocket while rolling down his window to hurl the flattened nub they had carved out of the bunkhouse wall. A thought came to him. “Where did you get the rifle?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“Seriously?”

“We should have buried it. We should have buried him and the gun.”

“No.” Face was trying to put things in order. “It’s better to take your time over something like that. You get sloppy when you’re in a hurry. Drop something while you’re digging or not clean prints off all parts of the rifle. No, it was better just to leave him and we’ll disassemble the gun. Get rid of it in pieces.”

“Alright. We go back to what I was thinking earlier. When I smashed the phone. It was the first thing that came to my mind.”

Face nodded. “Okay I’m listening.”

“Sean called me. Said he was suspicious. Said the guy with the truck wasn’t there when you two got there.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Rule number one in a con, use as many facts as possible to lend credence to a story and stop you from tripping up on your own fabrications. No one knows who he got the truck from, right?”

“As far as I know, no.”

“Sean and I saw the truck was already there when we pulled in. It wasn’t supposed to be there yet. That’s something Sean said to me. The guy was early.”

“Okay. That works. What else did you do?”

“Sean walked around calling. When no one answered... wait a minute.” Face furrowed his brow.

“What’s the matter?”

“If I tell you what we did instead of just a story, you’ll need to keep it straight. So here’s what happened. Sean and I pulled in. We were still hidden in the wood. The truck was already there. Sean said he shouldn’t have been there yet. We were really early, so the truck shouldn’t have been there for at least another half hour. So we backed out and called you.” Face considered the events. “Why would he go in before you got there?”

“That’s easy,” Neil offered. “Sean’s a hothead, not an ounce of patience.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

“Where were you when I got here?” Neil asked.

“I was almost to the road on the path. We left the truck out of sight from the road on the path and went on foot the last fifty feet. You and I were only halfway to the bunkhouse when we heard the shot,” Face filled in.

“Why weren’t you with Sean?”

“He was getting antsy. Told him I’d go see if you were on the road. He must have decided to go in instead of waiting.”

They drove on in silence. Just after passing through the gates to Fort Hood Face asked, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why’d you really follow us? Did he tell you what he was going to do?”

Neil pulled into a parking space and killed the engine. “No. He didn’t tell me. I didn’t like how fast he was about dropping it with you over the wet work. That wasn’t like him at all.” Looking out his driver side window he thought back on the moment he knew he had to follow. “He was going off the deep end. Getting to like it too much. I suspected he was going to try to pull something like this. He was paranoid and dangerous. And too damned excited for us to start killing people for that asshole.”

“You mean for me to do it,” Face interjected.

“Yeah.” He paused a moment before adding, “Face?”

“Yeah?”

“I get why you don’t want to be a trigger man. Well at least not for the head of a drug cartel. I get it.”

“We should go in. Gotta tell them about Sean sooner or later. Best to get it over with.”


	16. Chapter 16

“Point those rifles down! Jesus Christ! Is that how you were taught to handle weapons?! How the hell do we send you out in the field if all you’re going to do is shoot each other?!”

Hannibal thought he could physically feel his hair turning white as he observed the scheduled maneuvers.

“It’s like F Troop out here!”

“F Troop, sir?” young Sergeant Price didn’t understand.

“Yeah, Forest Tucker? Larry Storch?” He was met with a blank stare. “How old are you, Sergeant?”

“Twenty-four, sir.”

“Oh never mind,” Hannibal sighed.

 

*******

 

“Hello?”

“Hi Face. It’s Joe. Joe Wheeler.”

“Oh! Hi! What’s up?”

“I’m at Corpus Christi. Just heard you’re over at Hood. I was wondering if you can get away for a beer or two.”

“That depends on when and where.”

“You tell me. I can get away just about anytime. I can go to you, you could come to me. Either way is good.”

“Well yeah. That’ll be fun. How’s tomorrow night? Somewhere by you? Halfway between?”

“Sounds perfect. I’m buying.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“When I heard you were there I had to call ‘cuz I’ve never thanked you properly for getting me out of that mess in Peru.”

“I didn’t do anything. That was Tom.”

“Not what I heard. I was told you took out the fucker that shot me.”

Face stumbled over his words on that one. “No. Really. I’m not...”

“Hey. Face. Take it for what it’s worth.”

Face couldn’t help but smile, “Okay. Where am I going?”

“Austin?”

 

It felt good stepping into the upscale bar. Made him feel human again. Though he never dressed “Army” on his forays south of the border, he also never put any effort into presentation. Feeling put together in an establishment populated with people other than the thugs he’d been associating with made him feel more himself.

Struck with it as soon as he entered, a wave of uncertainty lapped over him. He’d become far too at ease with the group of soldiers whom he’d joined with to make this little arms deal. Where in his upbringing had he ever envisioned being able to hold his own with the leader of a drug cartel? Nowhere. He’d become so enmeshed in that little world, he suddenly had doubts he’d be able to spend the evening with Joe without giving anything away.

All the while he was lost in thought his eye traveled about the bar looking for Joe. Double checking a face here and there until one amongst these strangers stood out. It wasn’t Joe, however. It also wasn’t someone he could put a name to. He had seen the man before, but his brain had quickly constructed a wall. Impenetrable, the where and who wouldn’t come.

Sitting back in his chair, oriented to the front of the bar where Face stood rather than the table, his hand was idly sliding up and down his beer glass, all the while in a lively conversation with a person whose back was to the LT. Possibly from the feeling of being watched, or it could just as easily have been by chance as Face stared, the man looked his way. Accompanied by a classic double take, he abruptly stopped speaking.

An unmistakable look of recognition glanced across his no longer animated features. It harbored surprise. There was only a momentary flash and it was gone, expression quickly schooled. When he spoke again Face made out the words.

From the other end of the bar Face was able to read his lips clearly. For a brief second all else faded but that mouth, as though it had been magnified, a movie closeup in slow motion. “ _Oh fuck. He’s here_ ,” they said.

His companion twisted in his chair, scanning the room behind him, his eyes jolted from their sweeps across the other patrons to a sudden halt when they fell on Face. First turning back to the other man at the table whose pose was a little less relaxed, he rose from his chair and made a beeline in Face’s direction.

Just as the man from the table was within a few short yards, “Hey Face!” came from the LT’s side.

For a split second Face was caught by which of these two he should acknowledge when the decision was made for him as Joe grabbed him in a backslapping bear hug. When the bone crushing embrace was over Face opened his eyes straight into those of the man from the table.

“What are you doing here, Neil?”

“I could ask the same.”

“Just meeting up with this gentleman. Joe, Neil. Neil, Joe.”

“Nice to meet you,” Joe said shoving his hand outward. When Neil accepted it in a shake Joe asked, “You two friends? Work together?”

“Both,” Neil offered. “How about you?”

“Oh we were deployed together. South America. This guy saved my life,” he threw in a slap to Face’s back.

“Really? How did that come about?”

“We were both in Hannibal Smith’s unit. You heard of him, haven’t you?” Neil smiled and nodded. “We were tracking insurgents and had a group trapped inside a...What would you call it? A canyon?” He looked to Face.

“Yeah, canyon. Maybe a pass,” Face added.

“Anyhow one of those bastards took a shot at me and I slipped over the edge. Honestly, I only know what I’ve been told cuz I don’t remember a damn thing until we were in the air being extracted and even that’s fuzzy. But one thing I’ve been told over and over was our hero here took the bastard out. One shot.” He grinned at the LT who himself was looking a bit uncomfortable with the hero worship. “His very first time out with our unit. Impressive as all get out.”

“Just wish I’d seen him before he took his shot.”

“Yeah. Well. It is what it is.” He slapped Face again.

“Stop hitting me.” Face feigned hurt.

Another hug ensued with Joe laughing loud and joyous. “Come join us, Neil.”

“I was about to ask you to join _us_. I’m here with a friend too.”

“Sure. Where ya sitting?”

Face held up a finger to stop the propulsion but the other two were already on their way.

“Joe, Face, this is Mark.”

“Pleased to meet you. How do we know you?” Mark waggled a finger between the newcomers.

“I work with Face now and Joe and Face used to be in the same unit,” Neil explained.

“I know you, though,” Face said bobbing a pointed finger Mark’s way.

“Don’t think so.”

“I know I’ve seen you before,” Face said.

“I get around,” Mark dismissed.

“Army?” Face pressed on.

“For the most part,” Mark again evaded.

“Mark just likes to pretend he’s mysterious, don’t ya?” Neil interjected unsuccessful at hiding his irritation.

“You at Hood too?” Neil asked Joe who had just finished ordering a pitcher of beer.

“No. I’m at Corpus Christi.”

“Yeah? What do you do there? Didn’t know they had combat units there.” Mark become overly interested in Joe, obviously trying to duck Face’s scrutiny.

“I’m in Aeronautical Engineering. I won’t be seeing anymore deployments. Besides the gunshot I did a number on my other hip and a shoulder in the fall.” He had unconsciously cupped a shoulder in his hand.

“I didn’t know that.” Face sounded genuinely sorry to hear that.

“Yeah. Just had surgery number six last year. We’re hoping that’s the end of it. That’s why I didn’t make it to Bill’s funeral, just had surgery the week before. I’m really sorry I missed it.” He fumbled his jacket open, feeling uncomfortable. “How’s Hannibal doin’? Bill was like a son to him. Must of taken it hard.”

“That’s an understatement. It was rough.”

“I thought you were still with him.”

“I was. But he was sent to Germany and I was sent here. So...”

“Germany! What the hell’s he doing in Germany?”

“Filling in until they find a permanent commander for a base there. They removed the last one.”

“Woulda thought they’d send you along with.” He looked up over his shoulder as the waiter returned with the pitcher and extra glasses. “Thanks, buddy.” Pouring beers all around he asked, “So what ‘a you doin’ here, Faceman?”

“I’m heading up a shooters program.”

“Teaching folks to be firearms wizards like yourself, or just making guys feel inadequate?”

“I don’t know about that.”

“He’s being modest,” Neil added. “But I don’t think you’re far off either. Takes a real talent to be as good as he is. Can’t teach that.”

“Can’t teach his special touch with the ladies either, huh Face?”

“Not much of that going on lately. Been pretty busy.” Face gulped down a mouthful of beer.

“So you two were under that crazy Hannibal Smith?” Mark asked.

“I wouldn’t say he’s crazy. Would you Face? Creative maybe, but not crazy.”

“I know I’ve met you before,” Face circled them back around.

“Well when you come up with it, let me know. Hey, it was good seeing you Neil, and meeting you guys.” Mark was standing. “Good catching up. We’ll do it again.”

 

Face and Neil were back in Nuevo Laredo, this time with Ryan and Mike. Doing his best to stay on track, Face hadn’t yet been able to get Neil alone. Something was going on when he’d seen Neil and Mark in the downtown Austin bar. They had most definitely been talking about him. The old saying went through his head, _Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get ya._

That had been four nights before the four men sat around the same table with the cartel head in the decrepit saloon. Hierra sat in his chair, back to a post with a clear view of the backdoor. The two men who always accompanied him again sat at their own table and kept close watch on the front door. Javier was manning his usual spot alongside the front window.

Today was different though. There was one more person with the Mexicans, Hierra’s wife. An exotic beauty her full lips painted crimson red, her eyes heavily lined with an extended upward sweep, drawing attention to the high arched brows. She was leaning on the old jukebox, the kind that played 45s. Digging through a pocket of her low ride jeans eventually she produced coins. Mechanical jostlings within the obsolete music player gave way to Rocio Dúrca’s voice lilting through the air, [Tenías Que Ser Tan Cruel](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=ZnT-9DIsRec). It was an older song in general, but just another moment captured for all time within the aging walls of the taberna.

Swaying hips, arms extended and weaving overhead, the white tank she wore allowed the occasional peek of olive skin along her hips. Distracting, to say the least. She was well aware of her allure.

She had never accompanied her husband to any previous meeting, but apparently had been promised an afternoon of shopping. Face hoped for her sake they would be traveling to another town. The oppressive, crime ridden town of Nuevo Laredo certainly couldn’t be considered a fashion Mecca, at least not by someone with the financial resources available to her as the wife of a prosperous drug lord.

Hierra took the news of Sean’s demise with little interest, only asking that his death was confirmed and not possibly staged, he didn’t trust el pinche güey. Both Face and Neil confirmed he was indeed dead. But with that confirmation they also informed him there would be no takers for the wet work he had proposed.

“You say you are a sniper,” Hierra challenged Face.

“Yes I am.”

“But you refuse me.”

“I do.”

Turning to Neil he flipped a thumb in Face’s direction, “This friend. He is walking a very skinny line. You should talk to him. Point out what would be best for him ... and his future. That is having a future.”

Face broke in, “Look, I’ve been stockpiling the weapons in preparation for turning them over to you. No one’s the wiser. No one knows they’re gone. I have no problem putting them back. Now you want to complete this deal as planned or not?”

The other three Americans exchanged stricken looks amongst each other, not knowing if they should intercede.

“Fork over the deposit and we’ll produce the weapons. If my refusal to do assassinations for you is a dealbreaker, that’s it. I’m done.” Face held Hierra’s eye, bold and unflinching.

It was Hierra who broke the standoff with a laugh. “You will not work for me for money. But I do not like hearing ‘no’. I will think of something you will like. Perhaps a pretty señorita. One as pretty as my own.” He raised his eyes to his wife who had picked up the tempo while King Creole and The Coconuts sang about his [Male Curiosity](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=tjMQ6bb21lw), an 80’s dancehall favorite.

“Not interested,” Face said flatly not letting his own gaze wander.

Hierra leaned in and grinned. Face thought he must have been born with that lewd smile.

“You a gringo that likes pretty boys?” Hierra laughed again. “Maybe you want to fuck my Lieutenant, Javier.”

Face just sighed, exasperated. “We doing this or what?”

Hierra laughed again and raised a hand, snapping his fingers. One of his men from the other table rose and approached the bar. Face had a moment of doubt when the bartender dropped down. Standing once more he handed over an oversized duffel.

“Go ahead. Open it,” Hierra said pointing at the nylon bag now on the table.

Face looked around the table, none of the other three were making a move. He shook his head and reached for the bag. Just as it should be, the bag contained nothing but clearly already circulated U.S. currency. Digging around and feeling all panels he was convinced there were no trackers or other untoward items attached or otherwise contained. He pulled out three of the bundles and shoved the bag to Mike. “Everyone grab some and count it.”

Mike looked at the bag as though it maybe electrified. Face was thumbing along his first bundle. Pausing with a finger keeping his place he flipped a palm up, obviously asking what they were waiting for. “It’s a bag of money. It’s not going to bite. Or have you guys decided you want out? That what you’re thinking Mike? Don’t want to sell the guns after all? Don’t want a cut?”

“No!” Mike protested. “Of course I do.”

“How about you Ryan?”

“I’m in.”

“Neil?”

“You know I’m in.”

“Then what are you waiting for? Start counting.”

Mike and Ryan dove in, pulling bundles of cash from the bag, commencing the count. Face cast a look to Neil who was looking back at him with what the LT interpreted as an expression of approval. He huffed a laugh and dumped the rest of the contents in front of him on the table.

Hierra stood and called to his wife, hand extended to take hers, “Esperanza.”

“Where the hell are you going?” Ryan asked.

“My business is done for the day and my lady wants a new dress.”

“We’re not done counting,” Mike protested.

“And if it’s not all there? What will you do? Not bring my merchandise to me? Why would I risk that?” He placed Esperanza’s hand inside his elbow, escorting her from the bar. One of the men followed leaving one at the other table and Javier at the window.

They both watched the group leave. With the door closed Javier said to the men still present, “His wife. She’s a beauty, no?”

“Sí. She is very pretty,” his companion agreed. The Americans didn’t acknowledge his observation.

“I like pretty women. She will be mine,” Javier added with a smile.

“Over dead body of Mendoza Hierra,” the other chuffed.

“Like I said. She will be mine.” His gaze turned to Face, challenging him to disagree.

Face had no interest in getting involved with infighting among these thugs. He only shook his head and continued counting. One by one they finished, each calling out the amount. All agreeing with a nod the total was correct.

“Antonio,” Javier said, calling the second man. “Gentlemen,” he nodded at the group of American soldiers saying, “You will be hearing from me again soon,” before the two men left the bar.

The group at the table looked at each other questioningly.

“What’s that suppose to mean?” Ryan asked.

“I don’t know and I don’t like it. Didn’t Hierra say he screwed his predecessor’s wife?” Neil asked.

“Yeah, he did,” Face answered, eyes still on the exit. “Some kind of insult.”

“Now Mack the Knife is saying he’s going to do the same thing?” Neil looked around the table. “I’m not liking this.”

“Well as insults go, I suppose it could be worse as long as we’re not talking about rape,” Ryan added.

“Yeah, probably worse if the women go willingly.”

“That’s how I’d look at it.”

“Alright you two,” Face addressed Mike and Ryan. “You know what to do.”

“Yep, we’re outta here. Come on Mike.”

 

Mike and Ryan pulled to a stop behind the designated warehouse along the outskirts of Laredo, TX. At the far end of the deserted loading docks were the three men with whom they were to make the exchange. The Americans were driving the specially adapted SUV with assorted false panels behind which hid assault rifles, AR 15s outfitted with flashlights and red-dot optics. The handguns, Glocks with military inventory numbers engraved on their slides, were stored in the same compartment as two bipods with accompanying long-range scopes. Hidden elsewhere was C-4, along with grenades and body armor. There was no ammunition. It had been agreed it would send up too many red flags. Hierra didn’t bicker, he could lay his hands on it without incident.

As the two vehicles faced each other there was a momentary standoff. It seemed each side had, if only for a few seconds, reservations about completing the transaction. As if answering and offstage cue, five doors opened between the two vehicles. Each side left one with the vehicle they arrived in, and the others checking what their counterparts brought to this nighttime encounter.

The Mexicans only gave the Ford Explorer a cursory look over, not bothering to open all the panels pointed out to them. With Mike looking on, the back doors of the sedan were opened, a hidden pop up in the backseat was pointed out. It contained the rest of the cash payment.

Satisfied with the exchange, the cartel members were quick to get in the Ford. As they drove by the two soldiers one of them shouted out the door, “Javier left a present for you in the trunk.”

The two men watched as the SUV turned down a row toward the end of the bank of loading docks and disappeared from sight.

“Think it’s rigged?”

“Like a booby trap?

“Shit! What are we supposed to do?”

“If it was rigged would they really have told us?”

“I don’t know.”

“I say they wouldn’t.”

“We’re so close to cashing out.”

“Gimme the keys. I’ll do it.”

Mike stepped toward the trunk of the sedan while Ryan unconsciously took a couple steps back and watched as the key was inserted and turned. Mike intended to open it slowly, first taking a peak inside. He didn’t anticipate having his nostrils assaulted with a stench that gagged him. Turning away he heaved twice while the trunk hood continued open on its own. Ryan moved forward when there was no explosion, joining Mike to take in a full view of the contents.

Ingloriously stuffed in the compartment was the body of La Pantera de Guerrero, Hierra. From the quick initial glance they could see he’d been beaten about the head with hands and feet hogtied behind. The Texas heat had ripened a fetid stench that rose like plumes from the carcass. Splotches of blood marred the drug lord’s shirt and a definite stab mark to his throat left little question whose handy work this was. Lying on his chest an old time Polaroid snapshot, it pictured a couple. Javier and Hierra’s wife, Esperanza, smiled into the camera, arms around each other.

Stunned, they didn’t hear the approaching vehicles until their ears were hit with the sound of sirens. Like spokes on a wheel the sirens and vehicles came from every direction. Mike had a singular thought to go for his handgun, but saw Ryan already had his hands up. There would be no getting out alive if he attempted a showdown. Instead he followed Ryan to the ground, laying himself prone in the overheated Texas dust as DEA and FBI agents shouted orders from behind opened vehicle doors.

The sound of distant sirens didn’t tell the whole story. The two men now being cuffed and read their rights had no way of knowing the Ford they drove to the rendezvous had been rigged to have the engine cut out with the flip of a remotely held switch. They only immediately understood, like themselves, the Ford had been or was about to be apprehended.

 

 

*******

  

**For those scratching their heads over the mention of F Troop, click[here](http://www.tv.com/shows/f-troop/).**


	17. Chapter 17

The US Army hosting the US Marines makes for more strutting than can be seen amongst competing roosters outside a hen house. A joint field exercise dubbed “Western Fury” found Hannibal’s base the stage for just such bravado. With twenty-five hundred active duty troops involved under him, the base was overrun when over half as many USMC troops settled in for the week.

With a morning presentation and afternoon cookout, key players were introduced, exercises explained and assignments handed out, the first day flew by without event. The following days were the ones Hannibal was more concerned with. The days of the actual exercises.

For the most part the Army and Marine combatants were indiscernible from a distance aside from the color of their T-shirts, while up close they were individually identified as Army or Marine. Half of the combined troops were “Blue Force” with the other half “Red Force.” From the days of the mighty blue-coat wearing Prussian Army, in military studies and exercises blue defines “us”, red defines “them.” Aside from the traditional foot & artillery soldiers were blue and red teams consisting of equal mixes of Army Rangers and Marine SOCs led by half a dozen Delta Force COs. Hannibal gravitated to them when he wasn’t being pulled in other, ever expanding directions.

Though a junior to the Marine and Army officers sent as Command Watch, Hannibal was rather surprised by what could almost be described as his own cult following amongst the officers. His and his men’s exploits were legendary and he was treated to sincere expressions of pleasure at the opportunity to work with him. Hannibal felt the pleasure was his, being treated as an equal amongst the superior officers.

The Colonel had been preparing the base not only for the war games, but also its new Commander. Hannibal’s nerves were nearly shot the day he received the news that the new Brigade CO was delayed and would not be arriving in time to participate in the actual exercises; although, the news was softened only slightly by his being informed an other than superior performance of his base troops would not reflect badly on himself. It of course was known he’d had only months to start the process of straightening out the stew the base was in. Nonetheless, he wasn’t looking forward to the certain embarrassment to follow the display.

It turned out Hannibal’s embarrassment never had its moment to shine. Unbeknownst to him, there had been a secret officers meeting held with the only on-base officer not in attendance being one Lt. Colonel Jonathan Smith. It was determined the best, and virtually only way to demonstrate their appreciation for the Colonel’s efforts was to do everything in their power to ensure their Army troops held their own beside the Marines.

In the end no one was disappointed.

The exercises ran textbook smooth, the offense and defense both impressing the other; likewise, the two branches of the military. The only actual occurrence to put a wrench in the smoothly run maneuvers came mid-week when Hannibal was notified there was a small civilian type, transistor controlled, model airplane spotted outside the confines of the fenced base, yet still within its airspace.

The observation deck of the lookout tower was already well stuffed by the time the Colonel added his own mass to the group assembled there, all peering through magnifiers of one sort or another.

Tom was amongst the mix and called, “Ten-hut!” upon sighting their base commander. All seven soldiers jumped to attention as best they could in the cramped quarters, each bouncing off of at least one other, more than one foot trodden on.

“At ease. Jeezus, think we could fit more in here if we all exhaled at once?”

All went quiet except one Corporal whose laugh couldn’t be contained. When he realized no one else was laughing at the Colonel’s joke he looked around self consciously at the stern faces intent on him. All except the Colonel who’s trademark indulgent smile beamed. “Tough room, huh?” he said to the Corporal.

“Yes, sir,” Corporal Martin agreed with a relieved smile.

There was a tapping on Hannibal’s arm that was Tom calling his attention to a pair of binoculars. Raising his arm, he pointed out and to his left, “Out there, Hannibal.”

Before bringing the looking glasses to his eyes he noted to no one in particular, “Does it make sense to have all these people in a guard tower all looking at the same thing?”

There was an immediate shuffle as the soldiers all took their correct outward facing positions, covering every direction at the same time freeing up room on the deck.

“Looks like something from Radio Shack,” Hannibal said.

“Could just be some kids,” Tom added.

“Could be. Anyone ask the Marines if it’s theirs?”

“No. Called you first. If it was theirs wouldn’t they have let us know?”

“If it is and they didn’t, they should have.” Hannibal watched as the airplane scooped this way and that, taking many an angle. “If it’s our military, we should have been notified. If it’s a foreign operated, it could be transmitting or recording. Shoot it down.”

“Sir?”

“If it’s ours I have no problem taking responsibility. If it’s foreign the signal will be lost and they’ll figure out our guards mean business. If it’s some kid, they’ll have some explaining to do as to why the family’s model airplane was shot out of the sky over an Army base. No matter what, whoever it is they’ll know unauthorized surveillance of the base won’t be tolerated and neither will pushing boundaries. Now who’s the best shot up here? I want it down in one shot. Don’t need to cause a panic.”

Hannibal looked around as everyone else looked to each other. Tom finally sighed, hand out he barked an order to the young man beside Hannibal, “Give me that rifle.” Hannibal stepped back to give him room.

Tom made only one adjustment to the scope before taking his shot. Hannibal and the soldier whose rifle was used both had their hands over their ears, but even without binoculars or a scope could still see the craft blow, fragments falling to earth.

“Nice shot.” Hannibal was clearly impressed. “Didn’t know you could shoot like that.”

“Thanks. I try to stay in practice,” the Major said handing the rifle back over. “Call the south tower. Tell them to get some people out there to collect the debris and detain anyone who approaches.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I know someone you should meet,” Hannibal said as they turned to the exit. “The two of you could have a helluv ‘a shootin’ match.”

 

It was the final day of hosting the Marines and the brass had shone up looking to be impressed. A brief parading of troops kicked off the day with the Lt. Colonel being introduced to members of the European Command upper echelons. At the end of the line was one Colonel Morgan Hightower, the man taking up the command of the base.

There were a few words sent Hannibal’s way expressing the gratitude for the impressive performance he had put in as the temporary CO of the base. A confession was also made of having arranged for a camera equipped model plane to send covert images of the proceedings without the added nudge of knowing the top guns were looking on, including Col. Hightower. It was too bad it was only in the air for under thirty minutes. All were looking forward to the soon to be released unmanned drones under production for first the CIA, then the military after. Hannibal didn’t mince his words nor make apologies for his decision to shoot the device down.

The Army congratulated the Marines on their fine work while the Marines did the same. And not to be outdone were those from the Army congratulating each other for the fine decision that was made in placing Hannibal at the helm. Tom could only roll his eyes as they spent more time and enthusiasm on each other than they did on the man who had done the actual work himself.

Hannibal and Tom managed to sneak off on their own later that evening, bottle of scotch in hand.

“This brings back some great memories,” Hannibal smiled as he passed the bottle.

“Yeah? How’s that?” Tom asked.

“My second for many years was a man by the name of Bill. Could always depend on him. Half the time I didn’t even need to give him direction. He just knew. We were in synch. Me and him, we used to go to a corner of Benning, bring a bottle with us. Just like this,” he said foisting that night’s libation. “We’d plan or rehash. Seldom disagree.”

“I’m honored this brings back good memories. Hope someday you’ll look back on this ‘s one,” Tom slurred faintly.

“I absolutely will!” Hannibal exclaimed, maybe a little too broadly.

“Where is he now?”

“Who’s that?”

“Bill.”

“Bill, I’m hoping, is resting peacefully. He’s buried in his hometown.”

“Oh, I’m sorry Hannibal.”

“Thank you. You know, I’m going to miss that man til the day I die. Him and Andy?”

“Now who’s Andy?”

“Andy? Did I say Andy? We need to move onto a more upbeat topic.”

“I don’t know if this is more upbeat or not. Got someone new?”

“I’ve got you!”

They both burst out laughing together, bumping shoulders then leaning into each other.

Hannibal wiped at his eyes before saying, “Yeah, the answer to that is far more upbeat. I’ve got Face.”

“Face?”

“Yeah, Face. Fits him. He’s a handsome kid. But that’s not all. He’s developing into a bit of a conman. Changes his face like other people change their shirts.”

“Conman? Sounds like a challenge.”

“He can be, but he’s worth it. Smart. Scary smart. Does ridiculous math calculations in his head. Speaks I can’t remember how many languages. Never seen anyone more accurate with firearms, though that was a helluv ‘a shot you took the other day.”

“I trained as a sniper, but got out of it early.”

“The targets?” Hannibal asked.

“Naw. Happy to rid the world of every one of those fuckers.”

“Tom. You just cursed. You said ‘fuckers’.” Hannibal had a bit of a look of shock about him.

“Sorry. It’s the scotch.”

“No need to apologize. It was rather refreshing,” the Colonel said with a smile.

“You like that you should meet my wife. Anyhow, the hours of nothing was too much for me. Just not suited to surveillance.”

“Well I’m glad of it. I would have been lost without you here.”

“I seriously doubt that, Hannibal,” Tom countered in all sincerity.

“It’s true! I wouldn’t make something like that up. I’m not that nice.”

This last bit got the two of them laughing again. Hannibal struggled to his feet and extended a hand. Tom slapped it away and somehow rolled onto his feet. Hannibal was having a hard time puzzling how exactly he had done it.

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you Major Tom?” A look of glee splashed across the Colonel’s face. “Major Tom! Can you hear me, Major Tom? Can you hear me, Major Tom?” Hannibal sang with Tom joining in.

Singing Space Oddity the two made their way back toward the heart of the base.

 

Hannibal watched the Earth grow closer from his window. It had been close to ten hours since he had last set foot on terra firma. Beyond grateful a flight attendant had arranged for him to take an exit seat with extra leg room, though he still needed to stand occasionally to stretch out his long limbs.

He did feel for the older woman relegated to his prior inner bank seat, but she wouldn’t have been able to operate the emergency exit door and would have been reseated no matter who took her previous assignment. When he made his reservation he was willing to risk being trapped for the transcontinental flight when his other choice was a military commissioned flight plan involving three layovers and as many days traveling.

A private had been sent to meet him. Hannibal couldn’t have been happier to watch the young man scurry about with his luggage. Still painfully stiff from the long flight he acquiesced each time the kid objected to his efforts.

Upon arrival at his home he let the kid carry every piece in from the car. Hannibal inquired into his name and on his departure made a note he stuck on the fridge. The kid would be invited to the next cookout.

As usual, the house was stagnant after its long months with only occasional disturbances when a neighbor checked in to be sure nothing had gone amiss. Intent on taking a bag to his bedroom he stopped in the hall, looking into the room on his right, Face’s room. Leaving his bag he entered the neat, smallish room. He opened a window and in his head he ordered the room to breathe.

The closet door stood ajar, enticing Hannibal to it. The door swung freely without a creek. Inside, Face’s wardrobe hung emitting a faint fragrance of the man. Hannibal rested a hand on the shoulder of a suit jacket, no differently than if the kid had been occupying it.

He thought of Face in Texas, hoping all was going well. A hint of excitement rolled as a warm wave through him. He’d have to wait at least until the next day before calling Russ for an update on his young man. He closed the door and promised the room it would be freshened in a day or two before returning to the hallway and his bag.

It took a few trips up and down to unpack and sort things out. As after all his deployments, no clothes were put away without first taking a trip to the dry cleaners or for a tour through his own laundry room. With a new toothbrush ensconced in the holder in his master bath he was done and thoroughly wiped out.

He poured himself a moderate portion of his favorite scotch. The glass wasn’t empty before the Colonel was asleep sitting up on his sofa before twenty hundred hours. The crick in his neck woke him a couple hours later encouraging him to climb the stairs a final time that day. Not bothering with any bedtime preparations, he crashed diagonally across the bed, clothes still on.

Awoken once more from a chill, he pulled the edge of his Aunt Mary’s quilt up around himself. He vaguely recalled opening the window in the room. Straightened out on the bed he flipped over the pillow avoiding the accumulated dust there. Breathing in deeply he could smell Face’s scent as it lulled him back to sleep.

 

******

 

He’d been walking an irregular and lopsided figure eight, avoiding the same path twice. They had made it clear, he wasn’t to stand in one place, he wasn’t to loiter. It was also clear he needed to take care no one followed him to his rendezvous.

Ordered to spend the night in Mexico, Face had travelled out of Nuevo Laredo the evening before. Not only did his factiousness give him pause to staying overnight in one of the establishments there, he also was concerned for his safety. After all, all of his forays to the town hadn’t put in mind a quaint Mexican village. The order was last minute and he wasn’t going to chance being caught out at night looking for accommodations. It was bad enough having to return in the morning daylight.

Though the entire city wasn’t a drug, alcohol and crime saturated proposition, he’d spent most of his time there under just such conditions. The year 2001 saw the amping up of wars between rival cartels, not to mention the confrontations between cartels and law enforcement. Murders in the streets even in daylight hours had become rote. In the years to come the fighting would become ever more savage, to the point of cartels hanging the bodies of competitors from highway overpasses and leaving severed heads as warnings to anyone thinking of crossing them.

It was the last night of his mission and he was taking no chances. Word was out cartel paid border patrol agents who dotted border crossings amongst honest agents had his name with orders to detain and, if necessary, shoot to kill should he present any resistance. He hadn’t even dozed through the dark hours, instead he listened, ever aware of each and every sound in the night. None too happy he couldn’t have made his way to the North farther along the border the day before, he continued his amble always leading back to or within sight of his pickup point.

“Keep walking Lieutenant,” came a familiar voice from behind.

Face was hit hard with a cold sweat, certain he would heave there on the sidewalk, thankful his nerves hadn’t allowed him to eat breakfast. He continued on his way, steadying his breath, something Bill had worked with him on. He could hear Bill’s voice clearly:

_“When taken by surprise first thing you do is take two breaths. Inhale quickly, exhale slowly. Get control. People tend to freeze and get stuck there, letting tension call the shots. You’ll know when that’s the right thing, when there’s no time to think, only to strike. Otherwise, get control, don’t do anything rash.”_

He was in control of himself, slotting the pieces in place of how he was going to deal with the man walking alongside. The message he’d received earlier told him he would be approached by a contact before being extracted. Never was he so happy to leave a town as he was to be on his way out of this one. But this was throwing a wrench in the works and was triggering a protective streak in him.

“Surprised to see me?” Neil asked.

He wanted this over. He wanted to get back to the States. Be done with this mission. Get back to Hannibal. There’d been enough improvising and he was worn out. He made a decision. Knowing he would still give a full reporting, he decided to give the man a head start. “Neil, you have to get out of here. Now.”

“We both need to get out of here.”

“Seriously, Neil. You’re in danger here, with me. You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

“Actually Face, you’ve got it backwards.”

Confused Face was trying and failing to make sense of that statement.

“I’m not a Captain in the Army. Never even served. I’m Special Agent Corbin with ATF. Let’s go, buddy. Keep moving. Our ride’ll be here in a few minutes.”

“Wait. What?” Face had stopped in his tracks.

“Keep walking, buddy. We’re almost done.”

“You’ve been playing me?” Face felt anger rising.

“You could put it that way.”

“I just did! What the fuck, man?!”

“I’m sorry, Face. I wanted to tell you, but they wouldn’t let me. You were setting everything into motion perfectly. They thought it would be distracting if you knew. Thought you could inadvertently blow it up. It was better you thought you were playing me too.”

“What about Mike and Ryan?” He was pissed.

“No and no.”

“What about Sean?” Face demanded, anger clear.

“No. And I’ll tell you something. I’m sorry I had to take him out. I really wanted to see his face when he found out it was us who set him up.” Now Neil came to a stand still. “Face, I’m sorry. I didn’t agree with keeping my ID from you. I really am sorry for that.”

“So you know Mike and Ryan are in custody.”

Neil only nodded before setting them again in motion back to the extraction point around the corner of the block. “That went down without any fuss. They didn’t put up a fight. Not like the Mexicans. Those three are dead. I assume you heard about Hierra in the trunk with the Polaroid?”

Face had indeed been informed but didn’t respond to the inquiry. “What about the guy in the armory who handed everything over?”

“The guy you dealt with was one of ours. He was a middleman, someone ferreting out the Armory Sergeant who had stolen items before, for a different group.” Taking the corner he added, “Aside from this operation we’ll be charging him for turning over Army weaponry to two gangs in L.A., who, by the way, are populated with former military men.”

Knowing his contact in the armory also kept his true identity to himself infuriated Face. He stopped to drive home the point, “What a bunch of assholes.” A thought occurred to him, “Did Colonel Reese and the rest of the Army know about this?”

“Did they know we kept some things from you? Yes. What those things were, they didn’t know. They weren’t told knowing they wouldn’t agree.”

“Trust me. They’re going to find out.”

“Sometimes it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission,” Neil said with a shrug of his shoulder.

The spot where they would be picked up to be carried back over the border was fast approaching.

“Please don’t be mad at me I would have never...” He didn’t finish. Instead he stumbled before coming to a halt, leaning against Face. “I maybe in a little trouble here.”

Face reached to put a concerned arm around the suddenly paled man and came in contact with protuberance in Neil’s back. An action causing enough pain for Neil to begin a slide to the ground. Face followed him most of the way down as he scrambled to get purchase under his arm.

The shop window beside them shattered, glass debris flying inward, a wave of fragments scattering across the display with a still vibrating knife embedded in the backdrop. He correctly estimated had he not dropped down just then he would also have a knife wedged in his back.

A brief glance behind and Face only caught a glimpse of a leg retreating behind the corner he and Neil had only rounded moments earlier. His attention was pulled to the other side of Neil where a man, features shadowed by a baseball cap, was grasping his other arm, helping to lift him. He was laughing when he said, “You know there’s other ways to avoid the water here than with tequila.” Face followed his lead in helping, frankly they were dragging, Neil into a walkway not quite wide enough to be considered an alley.

The man pulled Neil out of Face’s grasp. Holding one arm around his own neck he lowered the now limp AFT agent to the ground. Face got his first good look at this random passerby. It was Mark, Neil’s companion that night in Austin. And just like that a memory slammed into him. He knew where he’d seen him before. It was back at Benning when he’d been summoned to speak with Colonel Reese. They’d passed in the hall.

“Let’s go.” Mark was on his feet, turning back toward the sidewalk.

“No! We can’t leave him here. He’ll die.”

“He already has. Time to go Lieutenant.” In shock, Face was easily led away to a car parked at the curb waiting for them. Mark opened the back door and nudged Face in, taking the front seat himself. The driver looked at Face in his rear view but directed his question to his right, “Corbin?” Mark shook his head then said, “Move it. We need to get him out of here.” The driver eased into the driving lane, taking the first right to head north out of town, to the border.

Face sat in the backseat still in disbelief. Pressure surrounded him as the memories from the previous night fast forwarded through his brain, kicking into a jumble while he tried to comprehend the events of the morning. They had taken a right. Too familiar with this ugly section of the Mexican town he knew they were heading north.

There were few people on the street, this area primarily belonged to the night. But there on the sidewalk at the next intersection stood a man. His stance was familiar, it was someone in whose company the LT had spent far too much time. As the driver paused for the stop sign Face’s eyes locked with Javier’s. He had lowered his sunglasses on their approach and now slipped them back into place. Before dropping his arm, the new king of the cartel threw a two finger salute Face’s way.

Tightness gripped his chest. “We have to go back and get Neil.”

Mark didn’t turn, didn’t take his eyes off an envelope he was digging through. “He’s dead, Lieutenant.”

“No! No! Go back. We can’t just leave him. You retrieved Sean’s body for God’s sake!”

The driver cut in, phone to his ear, eyes moving back and forth from the road to the rear view mirror. “I’ve got them on the phone now. They’re on it.”

Face looked frantically out the back window. Tucco was gone. “Turn the goddamn car around!”

“Get it together, Lieutenant,” Mark snapped.

Face squeezed his knees together, hands on either side of his head and rocked. One more look out the back window. The view had changed. He hadn’t registered they had turned onto Av. Luis Donaldo Colosio with the border checkpoint just ahead.

“Lieutenant? Lieutenant! You’re Bob Stewart. You own an accounting firm in Huston. You live at 1830 West Virginia Ave. The three of us came down yesterday, spent the night and are on our way back to Huston. I’m Mike Clark. He’s Brian Anderson. We all work at the accounting firm. None of us are married. Take these. Here are your papers for the border crossing. Passport, driver’s license,” he said showing the two items to Face before tucking them back in a wallet and passing them over the seat back. “Pull yourself together. We’ll be at the bridge in a few minutes.”

Crossing onto the International Gateway Bridge was as uneventful as it had always been on his forays north and south. Once all four tires we fully on the bridge they were good, the structure crossing the Rio Grande belongs to the United States.

Watching out the window Face noted they had just passed where he had pitched the bullet he’d dug out of the wall of the deserted bunkhouse. With that another thought hit him with the force of a baseball bat. The mission was for naught. He may have unearthed a few US soldiers in reprehensible acts, but it did absolutely nothing to stem the flow of illegal drugs entering the US. There would always be bad soldiers to sell weapons and to take care of the wet work.

Two Americans were dead. Javier had stepped into the previous drug lord’s shoes and no doubt he would hire more easily bought soldiers as part of his cartel’s defense. Despite Hierra’s baiting by calling him “Lieutenant” he had actually left the Mexican Army as a Colonel. Stepping into Hierra’s shoes he gave himself a promotion. He announced he was now to be addressed as “General,” General Javier Tucco.

 

 

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	18. Chapter 18

Standing amongst the other greeters Hannibal absorbed the excited hum of anticipation surrounding the arrival of the flight. Still able to wait at airport gates for arrivals, the devastating events of 9/11 were in the future. Twenty-seven days in the future.

The Boeing 737 had taxied in and it was a matter of moments before passengers began making their way toward the concourse and baggage claim areas. Hannibal had been a live wire since his return home from Germany. Having called Russ the day after his arrival, he’d been surrounded in worried with no outlet.

Russ had given him time to re-acclimate, thinking it was a reasonable option, and it would have been had Face’s situation not been unexpectedly and unacceptably dire. Hannibal would dust and vacuum the entire interior of the house; scrub the kitchen and baths; saving lawn care as a reward for making it through his home’s interior top to bottom. The accomplishment was a time killer and just the thing to conjure the man’s self pride. Instead he was fretting.

When asked if there had been any word about Face and the operation he’d been sent on, Russ shared his concerns about the young Lieutenant. Though not privy to all the details, and none too happy about it, the General had learned enough to be concerned about Hannibal’s new right hand man.

With just enough information to not know a goddamn thing, Hannibal flitted for two weeks between his home, his office, Russ’s office, Russ’s home, the grocery store, the liquor store and the on-base gym. When he received word Face had a close call just prior to his extraction, Hannibal was ready to drive to Texas to pick the kid up himself. Instead, the Lt. Colonel mustered what self control he had left and waited two more days to find himself anxiously scanning each individual stepping from the sky bridge.

There was a bit of a scuffle among the people leaving the plane when a young woman caught a glimpse of presumably her boyfriend and shoved several people aside to get to the gate waiting area that much faster. Her squealing disappeared with any other sounds or the sight of other people for Hannibal as his young soldier stepped into the airport proper, still righting himself from the overly exuberant girl’s assault.

Hannibal for a brief second felt his smile run roughshod over his features, but it didn’t beam on for long. Not after getting a good look at Face. The kid looked like hell.

Describing him as pale was a kindness but it went well with the gaunt appearance of slightly sunken, almost bruised looking eyes. “Haunted” came to Hannibal’s mind. Face’s head remained down as he slogged along. There was no doubt he would have walked by had Hannibal not called to him, “Kid.”

Turning to the voice an expression of utter relief came over the tired features. Though a standardized reaction to seeing one’s friend, lover, spouse, or just ride from the airport standing by the gate is to slide into anything from a full bore smile to a grin of mirth, Face remained stoic. Hannibal on the other hand made up for both of them.

An old hand at soldiering in and out of uniform, the Colonel quickly appraised neither Face nor himself were in uniform. The ubiquitous salutes, handshakes and backslaps were not required forms of greetings. Hannibal shortened the distance Face needed to close, taking him in a short, but full-chested hug. Upon release he kept a hand on the kid’s shoulder.

“Give me that.” Besides barking them out, Hannibal had a way of giving an order in a voice soft as a pillow, but an order nonetheless.

Face handed over his carryon and allowed himself to be guided by an arm across his shoulders that remained only long enough to ensure he was on the correct path.

“Did you eat on your flight?”

“Yeah. Had some kind of pasta.”

“I haven’t eaten since breakfast. How about we go into the city for bite?”

“Sure. Whatever you’d like.” Finally a small smile found its way along his face, “You’re driving.”

Hannibal smiled as well adding a nod and another sideways hug across the slumped shoulders. God it was good to have him back and safe.

 

*******

 

Bags retrieved and stowed in the trunk, Face had a hankering for American, “Nothing fancy,” he said, adding if he saw anything that even resembled Tex-Mex it would bring on nausea. Hannibal promised him fried chicken with corn, mashed potatoes and pan gravy. They’d finish off with Georgia peach cobbler. After all, everyone loves Georgia peaches.

It was a plan. But more than that, it was small talk. It was of little consequence, but desperately needed all the same.

Face sat back, feeling a calm seep into him from being in the presence of the other man. When the boss spoke of chicken and peaches Face looked on and was briefly taken aback to see Hannibal’s prior smattering of grey streaks had waged an almost complete coup on his otherwise auburn locks. He couldn’t help smile at how elegant his Colonel looked capped in silver. Then just as quickly considered how difficult his assignment must have been to have such a dramatic physical affect on the man.

Hannibal was tongue tied. A condition that nine times out of ten only made an appearance in the company of his Lieutenant. He wanted to know what the kid had been through. Wanted to know how he could help, because it didn’t take a genius to see he needed to unload. He wanted to help ease away the haunted look edging the kid’s features.

A sigh weighted in weariness escaped Face. Saying his assignment had been a rough one put it mildly. It was a cat and mouse game much as he’d been trained for as a sniper, though positions kept changing as to who was and wasn’t the mouse. In tandem, an oppression followed him to the southern border that never fully dissipated in his months away from Benning. The LT subconsciously carried an extraneous burden, one removed from his mission’s goal. However now in the man’s presence it crashed to the forefront. Despite them both following orders, he couldn’t shake the feeling he’d somehow let the boss down.

The time away hadn’t in anyway diminished the desire he held to be everything Hannibal wanted and at that moment the need overthrew him. His lips parted to tell the Colonel just that, but nothing came forth. Wanting to be that person and actually being that person were two entirely separate things. The boss had previously kept him at arms length and Face understood. Well, at least as best he could understand.

Why Hannibal couldn’t let go was never a question the Lt. Colonel pondered. Andy was dead and buried and if there was a way to ask him, he would have given John his blessings to move on. By pushing down even a twinge of desire Hannibal had forged a cocoon of granite around his heart, seemingly impenetrable. Nonetheless he wasn’t celibate and like Face he had a taste for both the ladies and men. He managed the occasional hookup without ever being intrigued about a second date. The prospect never fit in with his commitment to not be drawn into a romantic relationship.

Playing with his hands in his lap had been a tool Face had learned as a kid. It was a way to take oneself out of the scenery, to melt away, to take himself out of uncomfortable situations. The previous months had been grueling. Dealing with Mexican drug mobsters was way beyond anything he had been exposed to. Then to learn he’d been played all along? Well... He felt guilty for not having mourned Sean. He felt equally guilty over what happened to Neil. Even though he’d been in on the ruse, Face liked him. There must have been something he could have done to avoid... He’d been assured the body had been retrieved, but it did nothing to lift the weight. It seemed his Catholic upbringing was surrounding him on all fronts, displaying itself in full-on guilt mode.

Russ had called Hannibal the previous night to give further cloudy details of the operation Face was involved with. In the end it raised more questions than it answered. Something had gone wrong. That was obvious from looking at the kid. Though not privy to the scope of the operation, Hannibal went against his training and determined he would urge Face to talk.

Hannibal struck the Lieutenant as being stressed, not overly so just a bit tight. To Face it looked like he was putting on a front. Maybe trying too hard to appear chipper. Whatever he took on in Europe must have been onerous. He determined he needed to let his Colonel unload, if he would. The man could sometimes be so by-the-book he may not think it was proper to discuss it. Overcome by a need to touch, Face reached to his left. Even had he foreseen any possible nocuous repercussions from the familiarity he wouldn’t have halted or retreated.

The movement wasn’t beyond the corner of Hannibal’s eye, his vision dipping to the outreached hand. Without thought on his part he took the offering, squeezing warm comfort into it. Nothing needed to be said, no explanations, certainly no excuses.

Their meal in a true Southern diner was exactly what Face needed. The two, secluded in a back booth, felt wrapped together by the height of the seat backs. Their waitress Evie occasionally stopping by to exude charm was the only disturbance to their privacy. Hannibal couldn’t help but notice his handsome young Lieutenant barely acknowledged Evie’s efforts much less played along with the game of flirtation. He kept the conversation casual.

 

*******

 

Atlanta, Georgia is one of those American cities known to require full attention while driving. Much like Boston and New York, the use of peripheral vision could be a detriment. It wasn’t until they were hitting the outskirts of the city that the conversation came around to their separation and even then Hannibal was surprised he wasn’t the first to broach it.

“Not an easy trip to Germany, huh?”

“Started out ugly, ended on a high note. How about Mexico?”

“Started on a high note, ended ugly.”

“I had to tell a woman who had been sexually assaulted to man up.”

“I had to leave a body behind in the shitty part of a Mexican town.”

And so it went. Bits and pieces of their stories spelt out in highlights that eventually whittled down to details. Hannibal didn’t push for equal time. Instead he asked questions, kept Face talking.

Face couldn’t look at his Colonel as he described the clusterfuck that was his mission. Why the hell did they even send him there? It’s not like he made a difference. Not like there was a possibility of him making a difference.

If there was one thing Hannibal understood it was his responsibility to his men. It was up to him to be sure they knew none of their work was in vain. “Face, do have any idea how many gang members enter service? Do you think it’s patriotism? It’s not. It’s training for a different kind of war than the kinds we fight. It’s to learn battle skills and weaponry to be used on city streets in gang wars. Some of the most notorious gangs have members who were in the military. And it’s not just the Army. It’s all branches.”

“I really put a dent in those numbers, didn’t I?” Face half mumbled looking out the window.

“But you did,” Hannibal answered emphatic.

“Oh bullshit. It was a thimbleful.”

Hannibal heard the anger loud and clear. “You said the guy in the armory had been selling weapons to gangs for some time.”

“Yeah, but...”

“But nothing! Being instrumental in putting a stop to that alone is a huge accomplishment. Be proud of yourself Face.”

“Proud they didn’t trust me enough to tell me what was really going on?”

“Fuck that! Proud that even without all the information you should have had, you pulled off as dangerous a mission as you’ll ever face. I don’t want to know what the DEA think of your work or the outcome.”

“What have you heard?”

“Nothing. And I don’t care if I ever hear. I’m damned proud of you. And you know who else is? Russ Morrison. General Russell Morrison. And guess what? Where you stand in the United States Army, that’s who matters. The General over me shouldn’t even know who the hell you are. But he does. That says more about you and the man you are than you being badly used in any DEA sting ever could.”

Silence.

“I can hear you thinking, kid. The answer is yes. I really do believe all that.”

Face finally focused his eyes on Hannibal. “Thanks, Boss.”

“Anytime, Kid. I find it invigorating when the truth comes out so easily,” he said through a laugh. And he did mean it. Though not impaired, the beer he’d had with lunch had loosened him. Judging from the firm hold back around his hand Face was feeling the same.

 

*******

 

“Here we are,” Hannibal stated as he simultaneously swung the wheel around pointing his SUV into the driveway and reaching for the garage door opener clamped to the passenger visor.

Each grabbed bags from the back and hauled them into the house, discarding them at the bottom of the stairs. Face headed for the bathroom and upon emerging was met in the kitchen by Hannibal with a beer extended his way. They silently downed the cold brews and argued over carrying the bags upstairs. The LT insisted he could manage the bags himself, yet wasn’t surprised to see the boss right behind him, duffel in hand, when he entered his room.

After one more trip, alone, Face had returned empty handed from the upstairs, the last of his rucksacks and duffels left in the bedroom unopened. Hannibal was coming around the corner from the kitchen, beer in hand. “Oh, thought you’d be up there awhile.”

“I don’t feel like unpacking yet.” Face had his hands mostly in his pockets, shoulders scrunched upward, looking as unsettled as the first day he’d entered the house.

“Take this one.” Hannibal handed over his beer and turned to collect another one. When he returned he was met with the sight of Face in silhouette looking out the patio door. It was late afternoon and shadows in the yard were becoming long.

Face stood with one hand on a hip, one knee cocked, one straight. As he lifted the bottle the movement emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, hinting at muscles flexing beneath cotton shirting. Head tipping back for a pull off the beer gave a better view of curls that had grown out since the last time the Colonel had seen him. With his head returning and arm relaxed by his side, Hannibal’s eye settled on slim hips. A shift in the young man’s stance produced more flexing muscle, this time in the area around the lower end of his spine. Hannibal had a thought roll over him. This was the one person who had insidiously chipped away at the granite cocoon around his heart. Of anyone, this is the person who may be able to tap open a hole and take a peek around.

Turning to put the door to his back Face instinctively knew his Colonel was standing there. His head followed as his chin briefly dipped down. Raising again, this time to follow his eyes as they were the first to lift. A smile slid across his face, both shy and content. One that drew Hannibal in like a tether.

Standing before the man he held his own chin dropped slightly for the best view. Beer in his right he reached to palm Face’s cheek with his left. He felt a tremor deep within his gut as Face pressed into the caress.

The sight of the pale lips stirred Hannibal with a desire to see them red and kiss-plumped. His heart skipped a bit as, without prelude, those lips began to form thoughts into words.

“Don’t give me something I can’t keep,” they said producing for Hannibal the same effect as a splash of cold water on his back.

Looking up to the cerulean eyes his saw he was being watched, scrutinized. It wasn’t a look of hooded desire. It was one of wide open defense. Face was protecting himself and with good reason. Where was Hannibal planning to go with this? If he were honest with himself he knew it was leading farther than he’d thought out, beyond this moment, and inevitably crashing into a wall of nowhere at all. Just the result of a bit too much beer and the sight of the tight body within reach.

Words weren’t necessary. They knew each other too well. Hannibal’s eyes blinked only to open looking down and away. Face’s lips, so alluring seconds before, quirked tightly into something akin to exasperation. A short, barely audible huff drew Hannibal’s eyes up just in time to see Face take a step back before skirting around, passing Hannibal on the way to the stairs and his room.

 

*******

 

He wasn’t kidding himself. The longer Face knew Hannibal the more he wanted him. The more he wanted him the more inadequate he felt about himself as a suitor for the man. That night when he tried to bring on the then Major’s feelings of lust was years past, history. What he wanted now, what he needed now was something real, something stable, not something fleeting. He could pick that up anywhere as easily as the box of condoms to accompany him.

But he was old enough to know that’s not what Hannibal wanted. Hannibal wouldn’t let go of his lover. There had been several times when Face had walked in on him and the spectre. If given enough warning, it would be carefully tucked back into the recesses. If surprised, his Colonel could have a look of a child caught in the act as he would hide away his constant companion, this dead man’s ghost.

He knew Hannibal was fickled that way. He was unable to break free of his lost love. As these few years had passed, Face spent less and less energy on wishing and hoping Hannibal would put that part of his life behind him. Every now and again though, he’d get caught up in it once more. The joy and lightness of anticipation was only to be followed by the ache of the let down and the certainty of not being able to compete with a dead man who would remain frozen in his perfection for the rest of time.

Squatting against the wall he clasped his hands, dropping them straight-armed toward the floor. His neck suddenly felt the weight of his head as it too dropped downward. With eyes squeezed tight he struggled to keep the tears at bay. An hour later, that at some point included moving to sit on the side of the bed, a single thought fought its way to the surface from the muddy depths: this was no way to spend his first night back home.

Home. What the fuck is home anyway? Is it where a couple hundred unwanted children lay their heads at night? Was it the barracks of a random army base? Was it an off-base apartment where a dirty little secret was hidden? This house was just the most recent aberration of that elusive being. It was home for Hannibal. Yet try as he may, he couldn’t make it his home.

Rising to his feet, his need to get away overtook the exhaustion edging around his being. He needed to get out of that room and out of that house. Without a destination in mind he made his way down the hallway, down the stairs, and at the front door checked for his wallet before stepping out into the growing night.

Through the screen door to the back deck Hannibal heard the front door close. His first inclination was to hurry to the front of the house to stop Face from leaving. Yet even with an injection of adrenaline to his system he stayed put. There wasn’t anything he could offer the kid at the moment. It would be unfair to chase after him only to bring him back to a whole lot of nothing. He only hoped Face would return in the next four days, by weekend’s end.

 

*******

 

O seven hundred hours and Hannibal thought he smelled coffee. After a stop in the bathroom his face was washed and teeth were brushed. The shower could wait. The air was chilled, inviting him to snuggle into a sweatshirt before padding out of the room, a few feet along the hall and down the stairs.

It was definitely the aroma of coffee which could only mean Face had wondered home. He sat at the kitchen table leaning over his mug.

“Just getting home?”

“No. Been here most of the night. Kinda thought you’d still be up when I got here. Whatever. I couldn’t sleep.”

Cup of coffee in hand Hannibal leaned against the counter. He couldn’t have been more relieved to see the kid sitting there. He was afraid he’d be left with a hundred variations of “I’m sorry” playing in his head for what could be days. “Face, about yesterday...” But that was all he could get out before being cut off.

“I want to go after Tucco.”

 

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~¥¥¥¥~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

 


	19. Chapter 19

“You need to settle down, Lieutenant!”

“Seriously?!”

“I have something important to do while I’m here, other than taking in the sights on this Mexican holiday you’ve dragged me on. Oh that’s besides pulling you out of a flaming stack of tires!” Hannibal couldn’t contain the pressure any longer. Hands covering his face, every muscle, every tendon, every bit of his fiber was tight and vibrating.

“Boss?”

Without warning Hannibal’s arms were around him, holding Face tight. Pressing his nose to the younger man’s neck, tears stinging behind his eyes. He wouldn’t let them fall though. Instead he held firm.

Just as Face began to relax into the broad chest and his own hands felt the powerful muscles running the length of his Colonel’s back he was shoved back. Shoved hard enough he stumbled. Flailing arms stopped him from going down.

“Grow up, Face!”

“What the fuck, Boss?!”

“You will not SPEAK to me like that!”

“What?!”

Hannibal was on him. Had him against the backdoors of BA’s van in no time. “You reek of gasoline,” he growled.

Letting loose of Face’s shirt Hannibal couldn’t put it together for himself, much less this willful... _Jeezus. He could have died_. He would say it again as they drove through the dry landscape, but in that moment he could physically feel it. He came back to himself only to see Face already settled into his _I couldn’t give one flying fuck what you think of me mode_. He took a shaking breath and let it out, looking to the dusty ground. “Get in the van, Face.”

The Lieutenant was directed to the cleanest dirty shirt thrown in a duffle on the floor of the back seat. Shirt in hand, the young woman latched onto him while the two front seat occupants were subjected to the ridiculous sounds of pawing coming from the rear. Hannibal had done his best to shut himself out from any interest in the young man’s Lothario-like escapades that had been on display since his return from Texas. He also tried to turn a blind eye to the steady stream of belligerence the kid produced after being told Tuco would have to wait.

Acting out like a child, the women, Hannibal surmised, were some form of rebellion. Though he’d never recognize, much less admit it, the Colonel was an active participant in the show. Case in point, he’d been aware of Face’s infatuation with one Miss Corsica, though not wanting to give it any more weight than the other women participating in this feminine parade, Hannibal couldn’t resist an unabashed passive aggressive streak running through him. At the slightest mention he managed to get the young lady’s origins incorrect. Upon introductions he announced with conviction, “Face has told me so much about you. I don’t think I’ve ever been in the presence of a Miss Cyprus before now. What’s that? Oh yes, of course, Miss Corsica. Please have a seat. What do they drink in Costa Rica? How does iced tea sound. Pardon me. So sorry, yes, Miss Corsica.”

Over the following two weeks he managed to address or refer to the hapless beauty queen as, Miss Cameroon, Miss Caspian Sea and Miss Christmas Island. Upon being informed by his LT Qatar starts with the letter “Q” Hannibal only shrugged replying, “Whatever. Qatar, Caucasus Range, it’s all the same.”

“It’s not the same at all!” Face shouted before stomping off in a huff.

Hannibal never did ask why the army officer and Corsican beauty, a mismatched couple at least in Hannibal’s view, broke it off.

And there they were, Face with another woman climbing him as they sped across Mexico on their way to Sonora and the disheveled VA hospital there. “How many times did I say it? How many times did I say it, Face? Not to take down Tuco alone.”

Face could only babble in response about the Hannibal Smith How To Manual before trying to divert by harassing BA.

“You’re like a five-year-old,” Hannibal muttered.

Striking an offended pose Face said he was sorry for falling in love, presumably with Mrs. Tucco.

“Wait a minute. What about Miss Croatia three weeks ago?”

 

*******

 

One thing Hannibal could never be accused of is being an idiot. He knew damned well why the woman was in the back of the van, not to mention why the two had been wearing bathrobes. Didn’t take an Einstein to figure out the dig Face had taken at Tucco, embodied by his wife. Nor when Hannibal went chasing after his wayward LT did he not show up prepared with an envelope stuffed with an airline ticket, documents, and a wad of cash to give the woman. Having arrived at the sanitarium he’d handed it over to Face. Before exiting the van the boss told him, “There’s a ride waiting for her. Get rid of her fast then find a doctor for the Corporal.” Turning on his heal he set off to find the legendary pilot he had only heard tales of when he’d been stationed at Lewis.

It wouldn’t take long to track down the Captain and of course he’d be followed by his Lieutenant, revved up, arms waving complaining bitterly as they moved back into the corridor. Had the Corporal worked up too. The two of them acting like a couple of ugly Americans yelling in the halls of the hospital.

Not forty-five minutes later Tucco was history, Face was grinning from ear to ear, Baracus was winding down his seventh Hail Mary and Hannibal was asking Murdock, “Aren’t we descending a little fast?”

“If it was a planned landing I’d agree with you, sir. But seeing as we’re falling out of the sky, I’d say it’s an easy coast ... considering the circumstances and all.”

Face’s grin froze. “Did he just say what I thought he said?”

“That he did.”

Face glanced at the Corporal before joining him, “... Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners ...”

 

*******

 

Murdock had only met Face that same morning, yet even with the blue-eyed wonder's incessant bitch fest he was drawn to him. The pilot thought he was clever and funny as hell. Although, after putting the bird down in the middle of nowhere with engine failure, Murdock could see Face wasn't well.

They were actually only out in the direct Texas sun for a little over an hour before stumbling into the all but forgotten Western town, but the youngest of them was near collapse. Face fell apart when Hannibal went out to call for a pickup, an extraction from this no-name town, which it turned out wouldn't be there until morning. The call was made from a diner where he was also able to scrounge up dinner for all of them with BA's last $30.  
   
Murdock's eye was swollen and beginning to color. He was clutching one hand in the other under his chin. Wide-eyed, he stood in the corner of the motel room while BA wrestled Face on the far bed. Having just walked back in the door, Hannibal had a difficult time putting together the scene before him.

Face was sitting up, BA towering over him. The dirty blonde’s hands were being held up and out to either side. It was clear Face was losing the match. It was also clear this wasn't a friendly tussle.

Dropping the bags and cans on the side table Hannibal skirted the near bed. "What the hell is going on?" He tried to wedge his way between the two men, trying to dislodge BA. "Let go of him Corporal."

"He didn't mean it Hannibal. I know he didn't mean it. It was just an accident." Murdock was babbling.

"He's out of his mind," BA struggled to spit out. "He roundhoused Murdock."

"Fuck you! Get off. G’ fuck off!" Face was barely understandable. "I have to find him!"

"Face!" Hannibal was still forcing his way between them.

"It wasn't his fault. I was trying to stop him." Murdock was now on the opposite side of the bed. "There's sumthin' wrong with him."

"Face!" Hannibal was able to turn his head with both hands.

Upon seeing Hannibal, surprised recognition suddenly appeared on the LT’s face. All the fight left him. BA needed to brace himself when the counter force dropped away.

Face was looking up at the Colonel. "John?" He sounded terribly weak.

"Let go of him BA."

"You sure?"

"Yes I'm sure. Let go."

Face was gazing at Hannibal now seated in front of him on the edge of the bed. The younger man leaned in, fisted hands on Hannibal’s chest. He pressed forward attempting to expand the area where their bodies touched. "I was so worried. How did you find your way back?"

"I don't know what you mean, Kid. I only went for some burgers." And then to BA, “What the hell happened?”

The Corporal relayed to him how the feverish Face had lost it when they stopped him from following Hannibal out the door, punching Murdock in the process. As the Lt. Col. listened, he could feel the waves of heat coming off his Lieutenant.

Whatever bug Face had acquired in Mexico it seemed to have blossomed under the Texan sun. A good hour later Hannibal finally had him back in bed after cooling him with damp towels in the tiny bathroom. From where they sat at the little table BA followed Murdock's gaze to the two men on the far bed. The sick Second Lieutenant was holding tight as Hannibal murmured to him, stroked his back and pressed lips to his hair.

 _It would be a long night for those two_ , the man sporting a Mohawk decided.  _This was some strange way of getting back in the Army._

The thought of spending the night soon vanished. After several attempts by Hannibal to disengage himself, Face had managed to fall into a sound sleep. Solid enough Murdock felt the need to periodically check on him. His breathing was so quiet the pilot had to continually reassure himself the young man was still with them and hadn’t expired.

None of them managed to hang onto a cell phone. Hannibal assumed his had been demolished inside the van. BA’s could be anywhere along the northeast Mexican border, keeping tabs on his phone hadn’t been foremost in his mind. Face’s was probably still along Tucco’s beside in his discarded shirt. And Murdock? In the hospital he wasn’t allowed to have electronics of any kind.

Hannibal had to wait for Face to settle before venturing out to use the front desk phone. The former Corporal’s attempt had ended in frustration when he’d tried to get a medical dispatch to the little town barely four miles over the southern border. He gave up after being lost in a quagmire of transferred calls, unanswered phones, several requests to leave voice mail, and the unhelpful suggestion to dial “0” for an operator who seemed to be ignoring his attempts at contact after the third go round. Hannibal’s nerves were shot and fatigue had blinded him to protocol as he roared into the phone that Lt. Colonel Jonathan “Hannibal” Smith was not requesting a move up in the time of their extraction, but instead was ordering a medical evacuation be sent stat.

Unlike the previous attempt, there were only two phone transfers made. The first assured him the medical team and pilots were sprinting across the tarmac before the transfer ever connected. The second was directly to the crew chief aboard the chopper speeding its way to the ragtag group of men.

Returning to the room his Lieutenant slept on, still on his side, where Hannibal had left him. Composure regained he spoke softly to the other two, “We’ll be in the air within an hour.”

“Oo! Ya think they’ll let me pilot.”

“I ain’t getting back in no vehicle that leaves the ground.”

“Why ya say that, BA? You were just in a chopper with me. If you’re a little nervous I’ll definitely talk to the crew and tell ‘em I’ll pilot us home.”

“Shut up, fool. I’m never getting in another chopper with you at the controls!”

“Keep it down you two. Captain, in the bathroom. BA, never say never.”

With the bright light of the bathroom shining down, Hannibal took his first good look at Murdock’s swollen eye. “He really nailed ya, didn’t he? We’ll have them take a look at you too when they get here.”

“No, I don’t need anything. They should concentrate on Face. If we could get our hands on a razor blade we could do one of those slices like in the Rocky movie when Rocky...”

“That’s not going to happen.” Hannibal had been rinsing a washcloth in the cold water blasting from the faucet. After wringing it out he handed it over, “Hold it on your eye.”

Back in the room proper the Colonel stopped beside Face watching him breathe quietly for a moment before moving off to look out the window to the parking lot. As he approached he dropped a hand on BA’s shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. Shifting his gaze, he took in the inhabitants of the room. It would take some finagling, but if his belief in these three men panned out, it appeared he’d just put together a tight and unstoppable new team.


End file.
